f 


FliESH  LEAVES 


jr  It  OM 


WESTERN    WOODS 


METTA  VICTORIA  FULLER 


B  U  F  F  A  L  O  : 

G  E  0 .    H  .    DERBY    AND    GO. 


1852. 


lintered  acii>rdJi<g  to  Art  of  Consrress.  hi  the  vear  1852, 

Hv   <;KO.    II.    DKKIIY   &    Co. 

In  the  Clerk-8  <jwv»  of  the  District  (\.urt  c.T  tlio  I'nitcd  States  tor  til* 
.Northern  District  ot  New  York       * 


»KWKTT,  THOMAS    »X 
Stercot  yj-eri   anil    ri 
V. 


THE  broad  and  blooming  West,  so  rich  in  sj  Van 
adornment,  and  so  prolific  in  wild  flowers  of  rare  odor 
and  unrivaled  beauty,  is  becoming  equally  noted  for 
the  redolent  blossoms  of  genius  which  prank  the 
hearth  of  its  prairie  homes.  Each  year  adds  to  the 
number  of  the  latter,  which  are  expanding  with  won- 
derful rapidity,  and  displaying  an  opulence  of  foliage 
almost  astonishing.  The  leaves  which  they  early 
fling  to  the  winds  retain,  in  many  instances,  perennial 
verdure  and  fragrance,  and  are  too  lovely  to  be  trod- 
den under  foot  in  the  retreats  of  rural  industry.  Such, 
it  appears  to  us,  is  the  quality  of  those  gathered 
herein,  and  presented  to  the  public. 

PUBLISHERS. 


2951319 


to 


MY    SISTER    FRANCES, 


Sleabes 


AFFECTIOXATELY    DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS, 


THE  TEMPTER, li 

A.  SEQUEL  TO  THE  TEMPTER, 8i 

THE  SILVER  LUTE:  OR  THE  GIPSY  SINGER, 153 

THE  LOST  GLOVE, 187 

THE  LIVING  STATUE 213 

MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER, ;.. 225 

EDITH  MANFRED, 276 

INNOCENCE, 303 


FBESH  LEAVES 

FROM 

WE  STERN    WO  0  D  S. 


THE  TEMPTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  Serpent  lay  coiled  amid  the  flowers  of  Eden. 
A  soft  and  subtle,  but  terrible  smile  gleamed  out 
from  bis  luring  eyes,  as  be  curled  bis  glittering  form 
gracefully  in  the  deep  moss,  and  looked  out  over  Par- 
adise. The  sun  had  set.  A  stillness  that  was  deeper 
than  death  —  a  stillness  fearful  and  profound,  hung 
over  Earth.  Two  forms  of  wonderful  beauty,  with 
hands  clasped  together  and  features  pale  and  still,  went 
silently  from  that  bright,  holy  Eden.  They  were 
Adam  and  Eve.  The  burning  eyes  of  the  Serpent 
rested  on  them  with  a  calm,  cold,  horrible  delight,  till 
the  four  gates  of  Paradise  were  closed,  shutting  them 
out  for  ever  from  its  glory.  Four  cherubims,  with 


14  FRESH     LKAVKS 

flaming  swords,  swept  down  through  space,  and  stood 
upon  the  gates,  guarding  the  tree  of  life.  A  huge 
black  cloud  sailed  up  from  where  the  sun  had  set,  and 
spread  over  the  heavens  its  gloomy  and  threatening 
wings.  A  mighty  wind  rushed  on  before,  bending 
the  golden-laden  trees,  and  laying  the  fair  flowers  low. 
The  stillness,  so  intense,  was  broken.  The  birds  of  the 
air  hooted  and  screamed,  and  the  beasts  of  the  earth 
went  howling  and  raging  through  that  once  peaceful 
and  beautiful  garden.  The  Serpent  saw,  and  heard, 
and  smiled  —  but  the  smile  ended  in  a  shudder,  as 
he  felt  the  presence  of  an  awful  curse  hanging  in 
the  hot,  dark  air  around  him.  He  knew  that  he  was 
made  a  crawling  and  loathsome  tiling,  and  he  shud- 

O  •* 

dered — but  he  knew  that  he  had  power  to  bruise 
the  heel  of  the  offspring  of  Woman,  and  he  smiled. 
His  companion  came  gliding  through  the  luxuriant 
moss  and  coiled  herself  at  his  side,  a  foul  but  glitter- 
ing thing.  He  turned  in  disgust  from  her  cunning 
and  treacherous  wiles;  and,  hating  the  curse  which 
himsclt  had  brought  upon  her,  he  fled  hissing  away 
through  the  furious  storm  which  was  desolating  Eden. 


Two  brothers  stood  together  in  a  field  waving 
with  yellow  corn.  They  were  slender  and  graceful, 
and  oh!  so  youthful  and  beautiful  Locks  of  dark 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  15 

tJr  waved  in  rich  masses  over  the  white  brow  of 
the  elder.  His  eye  was  black  and  flashing,  and  his 
mouth  was  curved  into  proud  and  passionate  lines. 
All  manliness  and  beauty  was  developed  in  his  tall 
form  and  perfect  features. 

The  younger  was  just  as  beautiful,  but  a  thousand 
times  more  soft  and  womanly  in  his  almost  childish 
loveliness.  His  deep,  blue,  liquid  eyes  looked  out  so 
winningly  through  thick,  drooping  lashes  of  gold; 
his  cheek  was  warm  and  crimson-tinted;  and  his 
hair  full  in  bright  curls  upon  his  polished  shoulders. 
His  lips  were  full  and  red,  and  wreathed  with  a  sweet 
expression  of  tenderness ;  and  his  forehead  looked  pure 
like  an  infant's. 

The  brothers  were  conversing  earnestly  together; 
And  saw  not  the  glowing  eyes  fixed  on  them  with 
malicious  exultation,  as,  hid  amid  the  golden  grain, 
the  Serpent  looked  and  listened.  The  proud  eyes  of 
the  elder  grew  'darker  and  more  flashing,  and  his 
haughty  lip  quivered  as  he  spoke.  There  was  some 
bitter  feeling  in  his  heart,  which  the  low,  pleading 
voice  of  his  brother  could  not  appease.  The  Serpent 
Knew  that  the  fire  of  jealousy  was  kindling  in  his 
bosom.  So  he  distilled  a  subtle  venom  from  his  fangs 
through  the  air  which  surrounded  the  youths,  and 
lay  still,  watching  with  hateful  satisfaction  its  influ- 
ence on  the  high  passions  of  the  elder.  He  saw  lus 


10  FRE8IILEAVE8 


form  dilate  with  rage,  his  face  grow  pale,  his  eyes 
flash  fire,  his  teeth  closed  tightly  in  the  lower  lip  —  he 
saw  the  other  kiss  his  forehead  and  strive  to  soothe 
him — he  saw  the  uplifted  weapon,  the  blow,  the  falling 
form  —  and  then  he  glided  silently  away  and  left 
them  alone,  the  murdered  and  the  murderer. 

Abel  was  dead.  The  bright,,  innocent,  beautiful 
boy  lay  lifeless  on  a  bed  of  yellow  grain.  There  was 
no  breath  on  the  pallid  lip,  no  light  in  the  closed  eye, 
no  quiver  of  the  fallen  and  fringed  lid — but,  sunken 
in  the  fair  and  delicate  temple  was  that  ghastly 
wound,  flowing  with  bright,  red  blood. 

There  was  death — death  on  Earth! 

How  terrible  was  the  conviction  which  crept  into 
the  cold,  still  heart  of  Cain !  as  he  stood  with  folded 
arms  and  gazed  on  the  brother  he  had  slain.  All  his 
furious  passion- was  stilled  in  a  moment,  as  white  and 
motionless  as  marble  he  remained,  his  strong  gaze 
staring  on  that  sweet,  pale  face,  and  his  ashen  lips 
parted  in  horror.  Then  he  cast  himself  on  the 
ground  beside  him,  and  called  upon  his  name  with 
phrenzied  wildness — but  there  came  no  reply.  He 
covered  his  cheek  with  kisses,  and  clasped  him  to  his 
bosom,  but  there  was  no  return  of  his  caresses.  He 
put  his  hand  on  the  still  heart — it  did  not  beat 
He  placed  his  ear  to  those  cold  lips  —  they  did  not 
breathe.  Then  he  put  back  the  silken  tresses  fron; 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  17 

the  bloody  wound,  and  gazed  upon  the  crimson  tkle 
ebbing  slowly  forth,  till,  with  a  shriek  of  anguish  and 
despair,  he  pushed  away  the  lifeless  form,  and  rushed 
far  away  over  hill  and  valley  into  the  depths  of  a 
mighty  wilderness. 

As  if  pursued  by  .that  phantom  of  horror,  he  fled, 
onward  and  onward  with  rushing  steps  through  the 
gloomy  shadows.  Hours  passed  by,  and  he  still  fled 
on,  when  suddenly  he  paused.  A  wild  thought  that 
he  might  hide  his  crime  from  the  avenging  eye  of 
his  God  came  into  his  heart,  and  back,  quickly  as 
he  had  come,  did  he  retrace  his  steps.  It  was  the 
sunset  hour  when  he  reached  the  spot  where  his 
brother  lay.  He  twined  his  arms  about  that  cold 
and  beautiful  form,  and  dragging  it  to  the  brink  of  the 
river  which  skirted  his  broad  fields,  he  cast  it  hastily 
in  the  deep  waves.  There  was  a  splash,  a  bubble, 
a  closing  together  of  the  parted  water,  and  the  river 
flowed  on,  bright  and  peaceful  as  before. 

Cain  sat  down  on  the  flowery  bank,  and  washed 
the  blood-stains  from  his  hands,  and  cooled  his  burn- 
ing brow  in  the  pure  waves  flowing  musically  over 
the  grave  of  his  murdered  brother.  But  the  stain 
upon  his  soul  he  could  not  bathe  away — the  fever  in 
his  heart  the  bright  waves  could  not  cool.  A  strange 
fascination  dreAV  him  back  to  the  place  where  the 

earth  had  drank  up  the  blood  of  Abel.      Suddenly 
1* 


18  FRESH     LEAVES 

as  he  stood  there,  a  glory  and  a  brightness  filled  the 
air,  too  dazzling  and  terrible  for  his  guilty  eyes ;  and 
a  voice  —  the  solemn  voice  of  the  Almighty — broke 
the  stillness,  with  that  fearful  question,  so  thrilling 
to  his  startled  soul  — 

"  Where  is  thy  brother?" 

"  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper  ?  "  was  the  faint  reply. 

"  What  hast  thou  done  ?  Thy  brother's  blood 
crieth  unto  me  from  the  ground  — "  and  solemnly 
and  -fearfully  the  curse  for  his  great  sin  was  pronounced 
by  the  dread  voice  of  the  Lord  God. 

The  glory  and  oppressive  brightness  vanished,  and 
Cain  was  left  alone  —  with  the  brand  of  a  murderer 
set  upon  his  brow,  burning  for  ever  deep  into  his  brain. 

"Ha!   ha!  ha!  "  laughed  the  Serpent  in  his  ear. 

The  murderer  started,  but  the  rustle  of  the  retreat- 
ing nrxx-ker  through  the  ripe  grain  alone  met  his  car. 


Adam  and  Eve  sat  together  beneath  the  pleasant 
shade  of  a  broad  palm  tree,  waiting  for  the  return  of 
their  children.  Bread,  and  honey,  and  milk,  with  lus- 
cious fruit,  stood  ready  for  their  simple  evening  meal, 
beneath  the  shadows  of  the  waving  leaves. 

"Our  children  tarry  late,"  said  Adam,  softly  kissing 
the  fair  forehead  of  his  wife. 

"  Praise  God  forevermore,  that  even  amid  darkness 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  19 

h,nd  many  trials,  lie  hath  thus  blessed  us  in  our  beau- 
tiful offspring,"  murmured  Eve,  raising  her  bright 
head  from  the  bosom  of  her  husband,  and  turning 
her  soft  eyes  toward  the  path  through  which  her  boys 
came  every  evening  to  their  home. 

Lovelier,  far  lovelier  than  our  wildest  dream,  was 
the  first  mother,  with  her  rare  and  radiant  form,  her 
motions  of  exceeding  grace,  her  rich,  long,  flowing 
tresses,  and  face  so  fair  and  faultless,  so  sweetly 
proud  and  pure,  so  winningly  subdued.  Her  wistful, 
earnest  gaze  lighted  up  with  joy  as  she  saw,  through 
the  long  line  of  fig-trees  skirting  the  path,  the  grace- 
ful form  of  her  first-born  child  advancing  through  the 
shadows,  which,  chequered  and  quivering,  were  shift- 
ing o'er  the  avenue.  But  the  gladness  shining  clearly 
'neath  her  silken  lashes,  seemed  broken  and  troubled 
as  she  leaned  further  forward,  and  continued  — 

"  Where  is  my  golden-haired,  my  glad-eyed  Abel '? 
Cain  cometh  alone  —  and  see !  his  step  is  slow  and  his 
proud  head  bent.  It  is  not  thus  that  our  children  are 
wont  to  greet  us." 

And  Adam,  too,  looked  forth  intently,  as,  with 
heavy  steps  and  drooping  brow,  their  boy  drew  near. 

Springing  from  her  low  seat,  Eve  ran  to  greet  him. 

"My  child,  where  is  thy  brother?  Why  art  thou 
so  silent,  why  so  pale,  so  sorrowful  ?  Where  is  thy 
brother  ?  —  have  the  wolves,  the  lions  so  terrible, 


20  FRESH     LEAVES 

devoured  him  while  watching  his  flocks  ?     Speak !  tell 
me,  where  is  Abel  ?  " 

"  Mother!  I  have  murdered  him!  " 

"  Cain ! " 

"  Cain !  " 

Shrieked  the  mother,  and  broke,  quivering,  from  the 
blanched  lips  of  the  father. 

"  Nay !  curse  me  not — I  am  already  cursed !  Look ! 
look  upon  the  brand  that  God  hath  set  upon  my  guilty 
brow.  I  am  henceforth  a  wanderer  and  an  outcast 
No  more  to  hear  the  words  of  tenderness,  no  more  to 
linger  by  the  side  of  those  I  love ^-^ I  go!  Father! 
mother!  farewell." 

"  Stay,  my  child,"  —  gasped  Eve ;  "  0  God,  take 
not  both  my  treasures,  my  children,  from  me ! " 

"  Nay,  let  him  go  —  he  is  unworthy,"  said  the  cold, 
stern  tones  of  the  father,  made  desolate  in  the  pride 
of  his  manhood,  and  frozen  into  pitiless,  "unforgiving 
sternness  by  the  depth  of  his  great  sorrow. 

With  no  other  word,  the  murderer  turned  and  dis- 
appeared. Low,  like  a  crouching  thing  upon  the 
ground,  did  Adam  sink,  his  powerful  frame  convulsed 
with  mighty  emotions,  and  his  voice,  broken  and  hol- 
low, murmuring,  — 

"  Oh !  God !  must  thus  our  sins  be  visited  upon  our 
offspring?  Thy  wrath  is  greater  than  we  can  bear  — 
take  away  the  cup  of  thy  bitterness,  Lord  God ! " 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  21 

Beside  him  knelt  his  wife,  her  white  arras  wound 
around  him,  her  beautiful  face  buried  in  his  bosom, 
as,  chokingly  and  broken,  the  words  struggled  up 
from  her  stricken  heart: 

"  My  children !  my  children !  Alas,  my  Abel ! 
never,  never  to  see  thee,  to  hear  the  music  of  thy 
voice,  to  mark  the  bounding  of  thy  graceful  step,  to 
feel  thy  warm  kiss  on  my  cheek  —  to  lose  thee  thus, 
my  child !  And  he,  too  —  my  dark-eyed  Cain  —  to  be 
thus  cursed,  thus  guilty,  thus  a  wanderer  upon  earth ! 
Why,  why  was  I  thus  tempted  —  why  must  our  sin, 
our  curse,  go  down  unto  our  children  ?  Oh,  God ! 
be " 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  the  Serpent,  through  the 
twilight 

Shuddering,  those  two  desolate  beings  clang  closer 
to  each  other. 


22  FKK  SH     LK  A VBS 


CHAPTER    II. 

tt  mHOU  wilt  wed  with  me,  my  Zumah  ?  " 
JL    "  Nay,  Aal,  I  love  thee,  but  I  fear  thee." 

"  Thou  must  be  my  wife,  Zumah.  Then  thou  shalt 
live  as  did  thy  parents  in  Paradise.  No  sin  shall 
stain  thy  fair  young  brow.  Thou  shalt  eat  of  the  tree 
of  life,  though  the  flaming  swords  of  the  cherubim 
point  even  from  the  gates  of  Eden.  Greater  than 
the  cherubim  am  I  —  greater  than  any,  save  God 
himself,  the  maker  of  all  things.  Beautiful  art  thou 
as  the  rose  in  blossom  —  thou  shalt  be  as  wise  as  the 
angels.  Thine  eyes  are  brighter  than  stars  —  like 
them  shall  they  shine  for  ever.  Knowledge  that  is 
boundless,  beauty  that  is  fadeless,  a  home  in  the 
garden  of  Eden,  shalt  thou  have." 

"  Thy  words  are  sweeter  than  the  dropping  of 
honey,  and  thine  eyes  allure  me  with  a  strange  fasci- 
nation ;  thy  form  is  taller  and  fairer  than  any  of  my 
brothers  —  I  love  thee  when  thou  art  with  me,  but  I 
drt*  ad  thoe  when  away." 


FROM     WESTEKN     WOODS.  23 

"  Maiden,  thy  speech  is  folly.  Think  of  the  prom- 
ises I  make  thee." 

"  Even  so  did  the  Serpent  tempt  my  mother." 

"  Thou  art  cruel,  Zumah  —  thou  canst  not  love  me. 
Do  I  tempt  thee  when  I  offer  thee  heaven?  Wilt 
thou  not  love  me,  not  wed  me  ?  " 

"Oh!  if  I  dared " 

"  Thou  must  dare.  Look  into  my  eyes,  my  lily, 
my  fragrant  flower — look  into  my  eyes  and  love  me." 

The  fair  young  maiden  did  look,  long,  long,  into 
jhose  black,  glowing,  fascinating  orbs  —  gazed  as  if 
falling  into  a  dream ;  for  their  power  had  spelled  her 
and  she  could  not  turn  away. 

"  Dost  thou  love  me,  Zumah  ?  " 

"I  do — I  do,"  murmured  the  maiden,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  as  slowly  she  sank  forward,  with  her  eyes 
still  fixed  on  his,  till  she  lay  powerless  and  spell-bound 
in  his  arras. 

"  Mine,  maiden,  mine ! "  was  hissed  through  the 
teeth  of  the  tempter,  as  his  gaze  glowed  searchingly, 
with  fearful  exultation,  upon  the  pallid  face  of  the 
victim,  lying  insensible  in  his  grasp.  Rapidly  the 
form  of  the  tormentor  changed,  till  a  hateful  serpent 
twined  itself  around  the  young  girl's  form,  who  lay 
in  its  foul  coils,  ah1  pale  and  still  and  beautiful,  all 
cold  and  white  and  pure. 

"  Thou  slialt  atone  for  the  curse  thy  mother  brought 


24         f  FRESH     LEAVES 

upon  me  —  the  paradise  I  promised  thee  shall  be  a 
hell,  thy  life  an  endless  torture,"  muttered  the  de- 
stroyer. 

"  Nay,  the  maiden  is  sinless,  and  innocence  shall 
ever  be  more  strong  than  the  power  of  a  fallen  an- 
gel," uttered  a  solemn  voice.  "Leave  her!  till  Zu- 
mah  hath  sinned  can  she  never  be  harmed." 

."Baffled!  by  the  Eternal  One  I  would  have  ri- 
valed ! "  The  coils  of  the  Serpent  unwound,  and  he 
glided,  hissing  and  maddened,  away,  leaving  the 
daughter  of  Eve  insensible,  among  the  dewy  flowers 
of  evening.  The  breeze  brought  back  the  breath  to 
her  pale  lips  and,  with  a  shudder,  her  large  eyes 
unclosed,  but  nothing,  save  the  stars  of  heaven,  met 
their  fearful  gaze. 


"  CCTRSES!  curses!  curses!  for  ever,  on  all  the  chil- 
dren of  earth !  My  power  shall  they  feel  through  all 
time  —  they  shall  give  themselves  up  to  me  for  slaves 
through  all  eternity !  I  will  be  with  them  when  they 
know  it  not  —  I  will  win  them  over  to  my  dark  em- 
brace ere  they  know  the  form  of  the  spirit  which 
tempts  them.  Invisible  and  immaterial  in  form,  my 
spirit  shall  lurk  ever  where  they  least  expect  to  find 
me,  and  when  they  deem  them  safe,  my  fangs  shall 
drag  them  down,  down  to  that  black  home  where  fallen 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  25 

angels  dwell  in  horrible  despair!  I  will  smile  —  I 
•null  whisper — I  will  win — I  will  laugh — I  will  taunt — 
I  will  torture!  I  will  sparkle  in  the  maddening  wine- 
cup!  I  will  throb  in  the  fiery  pulse  of  youth!  I  will 
haunt  the  revel !  I  will  steal  away  the  treasures  from 
the  home  of  innocence !  I  will  burn  and  blacken  the 
white  brow  of  virtue!  I  will  howl,  and  rage,  and  shriek, 
amid  the  rich,  red  blood,  and  the  angry  carnage  of  the 
battle.  Hell  shall  play  with  Heaven  to  win  Earth— 
wh6  will  be  the  winner  —  who  ?  " 

Thus  muttered  the  Serpent  to  himself,  one  thou- 
sand years  before  the  Flood.  And  the  game  began. 
For  a  thousand  years  that  game  was  played.  Win- 
ning! winning!  winning  all  on  earth,  the  Serpent 
raised  his  burning,  withering  eyes  to  heaven  in  the 
guise  of  woman's  loveliness,  and  won  down  angels 
from  their  starry  thrones  to  lose  their  holiness  within 
his  fiery  folds.  Earth  was  a  mighty  prize  —  slowly, 
surely  it  was  won!  Unheeded  the  play  went  on', 
amid  the  revel  and  the  dance  —  amid  scenes  of  inde- 
scribable magnificence  —  amid  splendor  unrivaled — : 
bright,  bewildering,  dazzling,  deceptive! 

There  was  a  midnight  festival  within  a  gorgeous 
palace.  So  bright,  so  glittering  was  the  scene,  an 
Angel  left  awhile  his  home  on  high,  and  circling  down 
through  the  golden  stars,  he  walked  with  folded  wings 
amid  the  throng  of  guests.  A  million  lamps  sparkled 


26  FRESH     LEAVES 


like  suns,  in  hall,  and  bower,  and  terrace.  Ceilings  of 
jeweled  pearl  and  gold,  and  Avails  of  mirroring  steel, 
reflected  back  their  light  on  beautiful  forms  in  flowing 
robes,  gliding  and  circling  with  an  undulating  grace 
through  the  dreamy  mazes  of  the  dance.  Or  else,  the 
waving  of  the  flowery  foliage,  and  the  breath  of  the 
whispering  breeze,  brake  their  rich  sparkle  into  a  thou- 
sand changing  and  fantastic  shapes,  lovely  in  shifting 
light  and  shade.  And  here  and  there  they  gleamed 
upon  long  avenues,  where  the  tempting  board  was 
spread  with  costly  luxuries.  Vessels  of  gold  and  silver, 
wrought  into  rare  devices,  were  heaped  with  viands, 
and  the  jewels  in  the  wrought  wine-cups  sparkled 
brighter  than  their  brimming  contents. 

But  there  were  brighter  things  than  these  in  hea- 
ven, and  the  Angel  glided  through  them  untempted 
by  their  beauty,  yet  wondering,  and  admiring  the  skill 
and  genius  of  man.  But  as  he  went,  he  met  the 
lovely  princess  in  whose  honor  tlu's  great  festival  v.as 
given.  He  paused  to  gaze  on  her.  So  beautiful  !  his 
heart  thrilled  at  her  glance. 

hair  fell  down  in  wavy  tresses  to  her  white, 
feet,   as   glossy   and   as   ebon   a.s   the    ra- 


ven's wing.  The  jeweled  sleeve,  looped  tip  to  her 
fair  shoulder,  revealed  an  arm,  polished  and  perfect; 
the  velvet  robe,  heavy  with  richness,  swayed  anmml 
a  form  of  most  exceedi.-g  grace,  and  soft,  full  loveli- 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  27 

ness.  Her  brow  was  high  and  white,  and  looked  so 
pure,  and  her  sweet  mouth  was  curved  exquisitely, 
in  playful,  tender  smiles.  Her  eyes!  one  could  not 
look  beneath  those  kalf-drooped  lids  of  snow,  and 
their  dark,  sweeping  fringe,  into  the  dreamy,  brilliant 
wells  glancing  from  out  their  shadow,  one  moment 
unbewildered. 

Advancing  with  light  steps  to  where  the  Angel 
stood,  she  said  — 

"  Welcome,  most  honored  guest.  By  thy  folded 
wings,  thou  art  an  Angel.  Tarry  with  us  till  the 
morn." 

She  twined  her  snowy  arm  in  his,  and  turned  her 
bright  face  up  to  his  bewitchingly,  and  spoke  to  him 
low,  musical  words.  The  Angel  returned  never  again 
hi  to  heaven! 

But  the  beautiful  princess  had  a  rival.  It  was  not 
long  ere  the  deluded  Angel,  loathing  the  arts  of  the 
peerless  creature  who  had  won.  him  from  the  sky, 
turned  coldly  from  her  alluring  caresses.  Every  feel- 
ing of  her  ambitious,  passionate  nature  was  wrapped, 
up  in  the  bright  being  she  had  won  to  dwell  with  her, 
and  now,  when  she  saw  the  change  that  had  come 
over  him,  her  wild  heart  vowed  that  nothing,  nothing 
should  win  him  from  her  side.  She  feared  no  rival, 
for  was  not  her  beauty  greater  than  any  maiden's  in 
her  kingdom  ?  But  she  saw  that  his  love  was 


28  FRESH     LEAVES 

languishing,  and  allurements  that  might  almost  chain  * 
the  stars  she  practiced  in  his  presence.  The  siren 
voice,  the  wreathing  arms,  the  glorious  eyes,  the  win- 
ning lips,  the  dream-like  step,  the  wavy  motion  —  oh, 
all  was  beautiful,  most  beautiful !  But  passion  had  died 
in  the  Angel's  heart.  A  longing  —  intense,  earnest, 
uncontrollable  —  for  the  purity  he  had  lost,  dwelt  ever 
in  his  restless  bosom.  His  wings  were  for  ever  folded — 
he  could  not  unfurl  them  —  he  could  never  rise  to  his 
holy  home.  But  he  yearned  to  meet  a  being  on  earth 
that  was  like  unto  his  lost  companions,  spotless  and 
pure,  and  knowing  not  of  sin. 

There  was  one  such  on  earth,  and  the  Angel  met 
her.  She  was  a  shepherdess,  dwelling  apart  from  all, 
among  her  sunny,  vine-clad  hills.  Not  so  bewildering 
was  her  loveliness  as  that  of  the  proud  princess ;  but 
soft,  and  spiritual,  and  pure.  Her  brow  was  clear  as 
pearl,  circled  with  bands  of  braided,  golden  hair;  her 
step  timid  and  graceful;  her  eyes  shadowy  and  soft; 
her  voice  like  tinkling  waves  of  music,  clear,  low,  and 
swcllingly  sweet 

There  was  a  sympathy  of  spirit  between  her  and 
the  AngeL  Every  day  he  wandered  forth  to  mec* 
her,  beside  a  deep,  cool  well  in  the  shadow  of  two 
hills.  Her  gentle  eyes  would  grow  brilliant  at  his 
approach,  and  the  color  would  come  and  go  softly 
on  her  beautiful  young  cheek.  Their  communion 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  29 

was  of  things  holy  and  lovely  —  the  wonderful  stars, 
the  heaven  he  had  deserted,  all  things  bright  and 
good  were  in  their  converse,  as  they  sat  with  clasped 
hands  alone  in  a  fair,  fresh  valley,  by  the  dimpling 
waves  of  the  flower-circled  well.  But  a  dark,  flash- 
ing eye  was  at  length  a  watcher  of  their  meetings. 
The  princess  had  stolen  after  him,  to  ascertain  the 
mysterious  cause  of  his  daily  wanderings.  Rage,  and 
jealousy,  and  revenge  burned  silently  in  her  heart, 
when  she  saw  that  she  was  rivaled  in  her  wild  and 
passionate  love  for  the  Angel  —  rivaled  by  an  humble 
shepherdess !  She  stifled  the  first  burst  of  her  wild 
anger,  and,  eve  after  eve,  followed  the  steps  of  her 
false  lover  to  the  valley,  and  sat  beneath  the  screen- 
ing vines,  and  listened  to  their  words,  and  meditated 
revenge.  She  saw  them  kneel  together,  night  after 
night,  amid  the  dewy  flowers,  and  pray  to  the  great 
God  to  take  away  the  stain  of  sin  and  earthliness  from 
their  joined  souls,  and  give  them  wings  to  seek  the 
skies. 

"Now,  dearest,"  murmured  the  Angel,  one  fair  eve, 
"to-morrow,  at  the  midnight  hour,  I  will  be  here. 
And  something  tells  me  that  our  faith  and  prayers 
will  be  repaid  —  that  golden  pinions  will  be  given 
thee,  and  mine  once  more  be  free.  Be  ready  to  leave 
earth.  Farewell." 

He  left  his  young  bride  kneeling  on  the  turf,  with 
2 


SO  FRESH     LEAVES 

an  exquisite  sense  of  happiness  thrilling  her  lyre-Hi 
heart,  and  glided  away  among  the  shadows  sleeping 
in  the  vale. 

"  Thou  wilt  enter  heaven  through  the  gates  of 
death!"  muttered  the  princess,  stealing  noiselessly 
away  toward  the  little  cot  that  stood  half  revealed  in 
the  soft  moonlight 

A  little  silver  gohlet  filled  with  milk  —  the  simple 
meal  of  the  shepherdess  —  sat  on  a  tahle  by  the  case- 
ment Taking  from  her  vestment  a  jeweled  vial,  she 
let  fall  just  one  drop  into  the  milk,  and  glided  rapidly 
away. 

Another  evening  came,  and  with  a  high  and  thrill- 
ing heart  and  bounding  step,  the  Angel  sought  the 
vale.  Close  to  the  water's  side  his  love  reclined,  and 
the  gleam  of  her  white  robe  brought  gladness  to  his 
heart  She  did  not  rise  to  greet  him,  she  spoke  no 
word  of  welcome. 

"  My  love,  my  angel,  come  with  me  to  heaven ! " 
he  said,  and  stooped  and  kissed  her  fair,  pure  brow. 

He  started,  and  drew  back,  and  gazed  with  a  long- 
stricken  gaze  upon  his  bride.  Cold  —  cold  and  mo- 
tionless! so  sweetly  liko  a  pleasant  slumber,  yet  so 
cold.  Dead!  she  had  crept  there  to  die!  alas!  alas! 

"  And  art  thou  dead,  my  bride !  Who  has  done  this, 
my  beautiful  ?  Gone,  before  me,  pure  angel,  to  thy 
home !  I  wonder  if  I  will  know  thee  amid  the  starrv 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  81 

throngs  of  heaven  ?  yes,  for  the  fairest  and  brightest 
there.  Well !  earth  shall  chain  me  not  —  I  will  die 
too !  —  mine  is  the  strongest  wing,  and  I  will  overtake 
thee  ere  thou  dost  reach  the  sky!  My  beautiful! 
here  let  our  bodies  rest" 

Almost  before  the  murmur  of  his  voice  faded  away, 
the  Angel  raised  her  pale  form  in  his  arms,  and  leap- 
ing in  the  wave,  sank  silently  beneath  its  glittering 
surface. 

A  fearful  shriek  rang  on  the  air,  as  the  princess 
sprang  to  drag  him  from  the  grave  himself  had 
sought- — but  it  was  too  late!  Dark,  deep  and  still 
slept  the  well  —  lifeless  and  cold  slept  the  Angel  and 
his  bride  beneath  it. 


And  still  the  mighty  game  was  played,  and  still  the 
Serpent  won.  Vice  decked  her  hideous  form  in  glit- 
tering robes,  and  wore  a  smiling  mask,  and  \valked 
abroad.  Terrible  wickedness  came  forth  unshrinking 
to  the  light  of  day ;  and  foulest  crimes  lurked  in  dark, 
hidden  places.  A  polluted  and  abandoned  thing  was 
Earth  —  there  was  no  purity  upon  her  brow. 

One  soul  alone,  of  all  the  countless  thousands  in 
the  world,  remained  holy.  In  vain  the  Serpent  strove 
to  lure  him  from  his  sinlessness,  to  gain  him  for  his 
own  —  Noah  was  pure.  The  Serpent  won  his  game 


32  FRESH    LEAVES 

at  length,  and  claimed  his  fearful  prize.  So  an  ark  of 
C.opher-wood  did  Noah  make,  and,  according  to  the 
bidding  of  the  Lord,  he  and  his  family,  and  two,  or 
even,  of  every  living  thing  went  in.  And  then  the 
floods  came  down  —  oh  terrible! 

The  rivers  swelled  and  fretted  —  the  mighty  seas 
bounded  like  maddened  things,  and  broke  away  and 
rushed  upon  the  world  —  the  torrents  leaped  and 
thundered  from  high  rocks  —  and  down  —  down  — 
down  through  the  thick  air  the  angry  waters  fell 
Shrieking  in  mad  despair,  bright  forms  of  youth, 
withered  and  foul  old  age,  corrupted  childhood,  vile, 
degraded  manhood  clothed  in  the  garb  of  splendor, 
all,  rushed  with  fearful  footsteps  for  the  hills,  dropping 
the  treasures  they  had  grasped  in  their  wild  hurry, 
and  strewing  the  pathway  with  the  riches  hindering 
their  flight 

The  waters  rose  and  filled  the  valley.  Many  a  gor- 
geous fabric  and  rare  device  of  art  ay  buried  in  the 
floods,  yet  still  they  rose,  high,  high  over  glittering 
palace,  and  splendid  temple,  and  mighty  tower.  Most 
fearfully  sublime,  most  grandly  terrible,  was  this  de- 
struction of  earth's  glory ! 

In  vain  —  in  vain  the  pale  and  frightened  throng 
climb  the  high  mountains — the  waters  overtake  them. 
In  vain  the  eagle  screams,  and  battles  upward  with 
his  weary  wing  through  the  dark,  drenching  torrent. 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  33 

Only  heaven  is  above  —  only  one  vast  sea  below  — 
only  death,  death  all  around! 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  the  Serpent,  as  his  huge 
form  lashed  the  angry  waves,  and  his  burning  eyes 
gloated  on  the  destruction  of  eveiy  living  thing. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  he  chuckled,  "  I  have  won !  I 
have  won !  Ye  are  mine !  ye  are  mine !  ye  are  mine ! 
foul  seed  of  woman,  ye  are  mine!  I  played  for 
Heaven  once,  and  lost — I  played  for  Earth,  and  won! 
Mine  —  MINE  ! "  he  shrieked  and  shouted  to  the  pale 
wretches  struggling  in  the  deep  waves. 

Ever  and  anon  that  hateful  laugh  broke  through 
the  tempest  —  ever  and  anon  that  exulting  cry  rang 
out  upon  the  roaring,  rushing,  furious  wilderness  of 
waters. 

A  wreck  —  a  ruin  —  a  lifeless  thing  —  a  enamel 
house  was  earth.  Most  solemn  punishment  of  sin ! 


34  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER  III. 

J1ARTH  was  repeopled! 

JLj  Upon  her  brow  she  wore  two  emerald  glories, 
each  set  with  five  bright  jewels — the  plains  of  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah  and  their  ten  glittering  cities. 

The  sun  looked  down  and  smiled  on  their  magnifi- 
cence; and  in  his  smile  there  sparkled  gorgeous 
temples,  arches,  and  domes,  and  lofty  palaces,  beauti- 
ful fountains,  gardens,  and  terraces,  and  broad-paved 
streets,  trod  by  a  countless  throng. 

Riches  unbounded,  splendor  unparalleled,  rare  de- 
vices of  art,  and  wonderful  works  of  beauty,  surrounded 
the  new  generations  of  men.  Though  earth  withheld 
some  of  her  former  treasures  —  though  the  glorious 
stars  seemed  dimmer  and  more  distant, —  though  the 
flowers  were  not  so  brilliant,  nor  the  murmuring 
streams  so  clear  —  though  a  thousand  nameless  things 
were  less  beautiful  than  of  old,  still  nothing  seemed 
wanting  of  glory  and  display. 

A  thousand  fathoms  down  in  the  cold  depths  of 
the  ocean  the  Serpent  floated,  amid  rich  wrecks  of 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  35 

former  greatness.     Far  below  the  hollow  roaring  of 

the  surf  above,  he  spoke: 

"  I  will  visit  earth  again.     Many  years  have  passed 

since  my  form  has  trailed  over  its  flowers.     I  have 

lived  in  the  sweeping  wave,  have  existed  so  exultingly 
in  the  element  that  gave  up  the  seed  of  woman  into 
my  power.  Amid  desolate  ruins  I  have  floated  the 
years  away;  but  my  spirit  has  been  busy  with  the 
new  creation.  I  have  breathed  venom  on  the  soft 
south  wind,  and  evil  passions  and  wild  fury  into  the 
swift  chariot  of  the  tempest.  I  will  go  and  see  how 
the  poison  has  spread.  But  most  I  go  to  behold  the 
beautiful  wonder  —  the  fair  woman  whose  name  I 
hear  sung  softly  on  the  shore  at  twilight,  and  talked 
of  by  rude  fishermen,  or  told  of  on  swift-winged  ves- 
sels far  from  the  land.  The  beautiful  —  Alda,  the 
beautiful !  We  must  know  each  other.  Oh !  how  I 
love  to  steal  into  the  pure,  fresh  hearts  of  these  inno- 
cent young  creatures,  and  rifle  the  honey  from  the 
bright  flowers  of  purity,  and  nurse  into  life  a  host  of 
wild  and  evil  passions  in  the  once  peaceful  bosom,  and 
waken  hateful  dreams  that  will  never  again  sleep,  till 
by  slow  degrees  the  pure -and  beautiful,  the  fairest 
work  of  God,  is  made  a  fit  companion  for  myself.  The 
earth  is  waxing  full  of  glory,  and  /  must  not  be  idle." 
A  soft  and  glowing  flood  of  light  lay  trembling  on 
a  scene  of  brightness.  It  was  a  luxurious  apartment, 


36  FRESH    LEAVES 

the  sleeping  room  of  Alda  the  beautiful.     A  massive 
lamp  of  richly  wrought  gold,  burning  fragrant  oils, 
hung  in  the  center  of  the  lofty  ceiling.     Around  it,  a 
circle  of  alabaster  fountains  cast  up  their  crystal  con- 
tents, which,  meeting  in  glittering  arches,  descended 
in  shining  columns  into  basins  constructed  with  elab- 
orately-arranged wires,  giving  forth  at  the  touch  of 
the  falling  water  a  peculiar  and   exquisite  melody. 
Of  rare  mosaic  were  the  floor  and  ceiling,  and  win- 
dows reaching  from  one  to  the  other  alternated  with 
carved  columns  of  costly  wood.      A  raised  marble 
divan,  cushioned  with  rich  silken  fabrics,  extended 
around  the  apartment.      Upon  this  couch,  in  a  soft 
slumber,  lay  the  mistress  of  this  splendor..    She  was, 
indeed,  most  beautiful.      She  was  very  young,  and 
her  loveliness  was  as  fresh  as  that  of  a  bright  flower 
radiant  with  morning  dew.     A  world  of  inexpressible 
beauty  hovered  around  her  childish  mouth,  and  the 
lashes  of  those  closed  and  half-transparent  lids  lay 
thick  and  dark  upon  a  cheek  where  rare,  rich  tints, 
like  clustering  roses,  lay.      Around   the  slight  and 
exquisitely  graceful  form  flowed  a  redundant  wealth 
of  tresses  of  soft,  dar*  brown,  gleaming  with  wavy 
gold  where  they  broke  away  in  masses  about  her  jew- 
eled robe.     Polished  and  dimpled  shoulders  lay  like 
sculptured  loveliness  above  the  rich  and  sparkling  bod- 
dice;  and  fair,  round  arms  twined  themselves  uncon- 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  37 

sciously  amid  bands  of  shining  hair.  A  tiny  foot,  with  a 
gemmed  sandal,  peeped  out  below  her  flowing  drapery. 

A  pair  of  scorching  eyes,  from  amid  the  flowers 
and  foliage  of  the  terrace,  looked  in  through  the  low 
casement  on  her  slumbering  sweetness.  Alas!  alas! 
if  that  young  maiden  is  pure  as  she  is  beautiful !  for 
the  cunning  of  the  tempter  is  lurking  in  her  pathway ! 
Upon  that* high,  white  brow,  and  in  the  penciling  of 
those  delicate  features,  he  reads  a  proud,  and  passion- 
ate, and  ambitious  heart  beating  in  that  young  bosom. 

"As  beautiful  as  Eve!  like  Eve  she  falls  —  but 
lower,  lower !  "  murmured  the  Serpent. 

Already  an  evil  influence  seemed  diffused  through 
the  perfumed  atmosphere,  for  the  maiden  was  restless 
in  her  dreams.  The  delicate  brows  were  knit,  the 
lashes  trembled,  and  the  red  lips  parted,  with  an 
uneasy  murmur.  Then  she  started  from  her  sleep, 
and  rising  from  the  divan,  her  brilliant  eyes  flashed 
proudly,  and  she  smiled  a  bright,  triumphant  smile. 

"  Away !  away !  dark  dreams  !  "  she  murmured 
passionately;  "is  it  not  to-night  I  go  to  meet  the 
beautiful  prince  ?  Yes  —  thy  loveliness,  Alda,  has 
won  thee  a  tribute  even  from  him,  the  greatest  in  the 
empire.  I  have  seen  him  in  his  graceful  pride,  when 
he  sat  on  his  fiery  steed  so  fearlessly  —  I  have  seen 
him  when  he  mingled,  the  brightest  there,  among  the 
revelers  at  the  feast  —  I  have  seen  him  when  he 
2* 


38  FRESH     LEAVES 

braved  the  wild  beasts  at  the  amphitheatre  —  and  for 
his  pride,  his  bravery,  and  his  beauty  do  I  wildly  love 
him.  And  now  I  am  to  meet  him — perchance  to  be  his 
queen.  A  queen !  a  queen !  I  will  be  nothing  less — 
ho !  maidens,  robe  your  queen  in  her  bride's  attire ! " 

Clapping  her  tiny  hands,  a  dozen  handmaids  enter- 
ed, bearing  her  rich  array,  and  soon  attired  her  in 
magnificence  befitting  the  great  triumph  awaiting  her. 
The  robe  flowing  down  to  her  feet  was  of  snowy  silk, 
embroidered  with  seed  pearls  in  rich  devices,  and 
fastened  at  her  slender  waist  by  a  zone  of  diamonds 
which  shone  one  blaze  of  light  Her  luxuriant  hair 
was  wreathed  into  massive  braids,  and  caught  grace- 
fully here  and  there  with  costly  jewels.  She  wore  no 
wreath  nor  diadem,  for  to  her  lover's  hand  was  re- 
served the  right  to  adorn  her  peerless  brow  with  the 
ruby  garland  of  a  favorite,  or  the  honored  crown  of  a 
queen.  Delicious  perfume  was  sprinkled  over  her  attire. 

With  proudly-heaving  bosom,  and  glowing  cheek, 
and  flashing  eye,  the  young  girl  stood  before  a  mirror 
of  polished  steel,  and  gazed  upon  her  bewildering 
loveliness.  Intoxicating  emotions,  new  and  strange, 
were  swelling  in  her  heart  Wild  visions  of  future 
tiiumph  and  power  were  mingling  with  the  softer 
pulsations  of  love. 

But  the  appointed  hour  drew  nigh.  A  glittering 
chariot,  drawn  by  twelve  snowy  steeds,  was  in  waiting ; 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  39 

and,  resplendent  with  jewels,  and  pride,  and  beauty, 
Alda  was  borne  through  the  illuminated  streets  of 
the  city  to  the  palace  of  the  young  prince.  The  death 
of  the  king  had  placed  him  on  the  throne,  but  before 
he  was  anginted,  he  was  to  choose  of  all  the  lovely  maid- 
ens of  the  land,  a  queen.  The  moment  of  destiny  had 
come  to  the  ambitious  maiden! 

Alone,  unveiled,  and  trembling,  she  stood  before 
the  prince.  With  drooping  eyelids  and  a  step  of 
wavering  grace,  she  advanced,  and  kneeling  at  his 
feet,  raised  her  magnificent  eyes  to  his  with  a  smile  — 
oh!  such  a  smile!  —  so  soft,  so  winning,  so  irresistible! 

Thrilled  by  her  matchless  loveliness,  and  won  by 
that  bright  smile,  the  young  monarch  bent  and  kissed 
her  snowy  forehead,  and  placed  amid  her  shining 
braids  the  coveted  crown. 

"  Arise !  0  queen,  thou  hast  found  favor  in  our 
sight  The  day  after  to-morrow,  at  the  royal  feast, 
thou  shalt  share  our  scepter  and  our  throne." 

"  Most  gracious  lord,  my  king,  thanks !  thanks !  not 
for  thy  crown,  but  for  thy  precious  love ! "  murmured 
the  young  girl  in  dreamy,  musical  tones,  raising  again 
her  passionate  eyes  to  his  face,  and  remaining  on  her 
knees  before  him. 

The  prince  was  fascinated.  He  raised  her  from  the 
gold  cloth  of  the  pavilion,  and,  taking  her  fair  hand  in 
his,  led  her  out  from  the  receiving-room. 


40  FRESH    LEAVES 

The  vision  of  love  and  ambition  was  realized! 

Alda,  the  beautitul,  sat  upon  the  throne,  and  the 
princes  and  the  people  bowed  down  before  her  love- 
liness. The  wealth  of  half  the  treasury,  the  income 
of  half  the  kingdom,  was  at  her  disposal  Never 
was  there  a  queen  of  such  unequaled  charms  and 
splendor.  But  every  offering  to  her  vanity,  every 
new  accession  of  power,  but  heightened  her  ambition. 
To  have  a  thousand  lovers  who  dared  not  touch  her 
jeweled  robe  —  to  dazzle  the  world  by  her  gorgeous 
display — was  not  enough  of  triumph  for  the  proud, 
jnperious,  brilliant  creature.  She  aspired  to  be  more 
han  a  queen,  and  announced  herself  as  a  divine  be- 
ing from  the  skies,  sent  down  to  rule  and  be  wor- 
shiped by  every  faithful  subject  As  a  goddess,  she 
robed  herself  in  dazzling  splendor,  and  stood  in  a 
gorgeous  temple  to  be  worshiped  by  the  people.  The 
dress  she  wore  on  these  occasions  was  of  azure  silk, 
embroidered  with  diamonds,  to  represent  stars;  and 
up  on  her  brow  she  wore  a  crown,  in  imitation  of 
the  crescent  moon,  and  called  herself  the  Goddess  of 
the  Night  All  were  her  enthusiastic  worshipers ;  and 
the  costly  offerings  they  laid  upon  her  shrine  were 
greater  in  value  than  the  riches  of  the  treasury. 
Oracles  gave  she  them  out  of  the  corruptness  of  her 
own  hollow  heart  and  her  votaries  grew,  in  obedience 
to  them,  each  day  more  wicked  and  corrupt 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  41 

But  the  king  was  jealous  of  her  power.  It  ex- 
ceeded his^own  greatness,  and  took  the  hearts,  and 
the  riches,  and  the  obedience  of  his  people  from  him. 
He,  too,  loved  the  glorious  goddess — for  her  cunning 
would  permit  no  rival  for  her  lord's  affections.  He 
was  not  willing  to  have  her  assassinated  to  end  the 
rivalry,  neither  could  he  brook  her  growing  and  al- 
most absolute  power. 

One  day  it  was  announced  that  the  goddess  whom 
they  adored  had  been  translated  to  the  skies.  The 
king  clothed  himself  in  sackcloth,  and  sprinkled  ashes 
on  his  head,  and  sat  three  days  mourning  in  his  pal- 
ace. Then  a  new  queen  was  chosen,  and  the  fickle 
people  soon  forgot  their  beautiful  goddess — but  not 
the  wicked  oracles  which  she  had  given  them. 

In  a  lonely  but  rich  apartment  in  the  king's  palace, 
Alda  was  imprisoned.  Music,  and  flowers,  and  birds, 
and  slaves  surrounded  her,  and  the  monarch  came 
every  day  to  while  away  an  hour  with  her ;  but  to 
be  thus  thwarted  in  her  ambition,  thus  compelled  to 
abide  in  loneliness  through  those  hours  that  once 
were  full  of  triumph,  was  bitter  humiliation  to  the 
proud  girl.  How  she  raved,  and  threatened,  and  ca- 
ressed, and  entreated — now  beautiful,  with  scorn  upon 
her  curling  lip,  and  anger  flashing  from  her  haughty 
eyes — now  putting  on  such  sweet,  and  winning,  and 
almost  irresistible  endearments  and  caresses  —  now 


!'-  FRESH     LEAVES 

cold,  and  silent,  and  imperious  as  a  marble  statue 
of  pride.  But  all  in  vain ;  the  monarch  was  wisely 
careful  of  his  own  interests. 

Burning  and  implacable  revenge  now  dwelt  in  the 
girl's  bosom.  A  subtle  poison,  murdering  its  victim 
by  slow  degrees,  she  procured,  and  placed  in  a  goblet 
of  wine,  before  the  daily  visit  of  the  monarch;  and, 
under  pretence  of  friendship  for  the  new  queen,  sent 
her  a  bracelet  of  rare  and  beautiful  workmanship, 
but  which  was  certain,  though  painless,  death  to  the 
wearer.  Then,  having  no  object  for  which  longer  to 
live,  and  seeing  that  evil  passions  and  violent  grief 
had  faded  her  own  wonderful  loveliness,  she  prepared 
a  quick  poison,  and,  drinking  the  fatal  draught,  ended 
her  existence  before  either  of  her  victims. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  worker  of  her  ruin, 
as  his  glowing  eyes  again  peered  in  through  the  low 
casement,  upon  the  lifeless  form  of  the  once  glorious 
and  passionate  creature. 

Then  the  Serpent  changed  himself  into  the  form 
of  an  idol,  and  sat  himself  up  at  the  corner  of  the 
streets,  and  all  the  people  fell  down  and  worshiped 
him.  And  the  idolaters  went  away  with  horrible 
wickedness  in  their  hearts  ;  and  deeds  that  would 
make  the  listener  shudder  to  hear,  and  fearful  acts 
of  depravity  did  they  commit  And  to  some  the 
Serpent  came  in  the  form  of  gold,  to  tempt  them; 


FROM    WESTERH     WOODS.  43 

and  some  of  sparkling  wine;  and  some  of  jealousy, 
and  rage,  and  covetousness,  and  every  evil  passion. 
No  wickedness  was  there,  before  or  since,  like  to  the 
wickedness  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah. 

A  terrible  punishment  did  they  suffer  for  their  sins ; 
for  the  Lord  God  was  wroth  with  them.  An  awful 
gloom  fell  upon  the  cities,  lit  up  by  the  ghastly  glare 
from  one  lurid  cloud  which  hung  over  all  the  plain  — 
and  glowing  lightning  played  over  the  heavens,  and 
dense  fumes  of  burning  brimstone  filled  the  suffocat- 
ing air.  The  inhabitants  ran  to  and  fro,  and  gnashed 
their  teeth,  and  tore  their  hair,  and  called  wildly  on 
their  senseless  idols  to  save  them  from  their  coming 
doom.  Their  riches  and  their  pride  of  heart  availed 
them  not.  The  forked  fire  darted  its  red  tongues  his- 
sing through  the  air,  and  molten  lava  fell  upon  the 
shrieking  throngs. 

And  when  the  sun  arose  on  the  next  morn,  where 
were  the  ten  bright  cities  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  ? 
A  smoking  ruin  —  a  blackened  heap  of  ashen  deso- 
lation. 0 !  earth !  earth !  how  did  thy  crown  of  jew- 
els burn  and  deface  thy  lovely  brow. 

And  the  Serpent  hissed,  hooted,  howled  in  his 
horrible  glee,  and  lashed  his  huge  form  to  and  fro, 
and  taunted  the  dying  wretches  —  and,  when  the 
ruin  was  completed,  fled  away  to  the  depths  of  the 
vast  ocean. 


44  FRES  H     LEAVES 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  wise  men  of  Egypt  were  gathered  together 
in  deep  council.  They  had  been  summoned  to 
prove  their  wisdom  equal  with  that  of  God — to  mock 
the  greatness  of  His  power  by  working  great  won- 
ders— even  the  miracles  which  the  Lord  himself  had 
commissioned  to  be  shown  before  Pharaoh.  Suddenly 
in  their  midst  appeared,  rising  up  out  of  the  marble 
floor,  a  most  mysterious  vision.  Encompassed  round 
about  with  a  dense  mass  of  whirling,  circling  fumes, 
they  could  not  tell  the  form  of  the  spirit  which  ad- 
dressed them.  But  from  the  vapor  came  a  voice, 
sweeter  than  flowing  honey,  and  softer  than  the  drop- 
ping of  night  dew: 

"  O,  learned  men,  0,  ye  most  wise  magicians,  my 
power  is  far  greater  than  thine — yea,  it  is  more  mighty 
than  any  in  the  universe.  The  wisdom  which  ye  seek 
I  can  give  ye  —  fall  down  and  worship  me,  and  I  will 
give  my  power  to  work  wonders  into  your  hands.'* 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  45 

And  all  the  magicians  fell  prostrate  before  the 
vision,  and  worshiped  him. 

Then  they  went  in  before  Pharaoh,  in  whose  pres- 
ence stood  Aaron,  with  the  rod  which  the  Lord  had 
given  him.  And  Aaron  cast  down  his  rod,  and  it 
became  a  serpent  Then  the  wise  men  cast  down 
their  rods,  and  they  became  serpents.  And  they 
worshiped  the  spirit  again,  and  besought  of  him 
greater  power,  to  do  as  did  Moses,  and  turn  the 
waters  of  the  river  into  blood. 

The  spirit  answered  — "  Give  me  an  oath  to  give 
up  your  souls  into  my  keeping,  and  I  will  bestow  on 
ye  all  that  ye  shall  ask  of  wisdom  and  greatness." 

Then  the  magicians  took  the  oath,  and,  by  the 
power  of  the  spirit,  they  worked  many  of  the  wonders 
which  God  gave  Moses  the  wisdom  to  perform.  But 
when  they  could  no  longer  do  Pharaoh's  bidding,  and 
prove  themselves  equal  in  skill  to  the  Lord,  and  went 
out  from  his  presence  to  the  vision  for  more  power,  it 
had  vanished.  Then  they  felt  their  souls  quake  with 
fear,  and  they  were  troubled,  because  of  the  strange 
spirit  they  had  worshiped. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  chuckled  the  Serpent  that  night  on 
his  coral  pillow,  "such  learned,  souls  are  won  light 
easily.  How  I  love  to  measure  my  power  by  God's, 
even  though  I  am  compelled  ever  to  be  defeated. 
Me  thinks  I  was  ambitious  once  —  0  yes,  and  I  am 


46  FRESH     LEAVES 

now;  and,  when  the  end  of  this  fair  earth  comes,  I 
wonder  whose  kingdom  over  human  souls  will  be  the 
greatest — the  God  who  created,  or  the  Serpent  who 
banned  them.  Ha!  ha!  I  must  work  right  busily — 
whining,  winning  ever !  " 


Where  the  soft  south  wind  came  stealing  to  his 
brow,  laden  with  the  sweet  scent  of  spices  from  the 
trees  which  shaded  the  porch  where  he  sat,  and  the 
flowers  which  twined  around  its  pillars  of  hewn  stone, 
was  a  venerable  man.  His  brow  was  beaming  with 
loftiness  and  dignity ;  his  eyes  were  deep  and  calm, 
and  his  mouth  was  beautiful  even  in  old  age,  with 
a  holy  smile  of  peaceful  serenity.  Down  upon  his 
bosom  flowed  his  long,  white  beard,  and  gently,  hi 
the  sweet,  cool  air,  waved  the  snowy  locks  back  from 
his  temples.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  that  good  old 
man,  full  of  years,  and  honors,  and  wisdom,  blessed 
with  the  affectionate  reverence  of  a  whole  nation, 
surrounded  with  riches,  and  splendor,  and  love,  sit- 
ting in  the  calm  enjoyment  of  his  years  on  the  pil- 
lared porch  of  his  magnificent  dwelling.  While  he 
sat  there  in  gentle  musing,  with  the  soft  south  wind 
caressing  his  mild  brow,  a  woman  glided  around  the 
corner  of  the  porch,  and,  nearing  him  with  graceful 
steps,  stood  hesitating  with  an  attitude  of  soft  timidity 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  47 

before  him.  A  woman — yet  she  looked  almost  a 
child  —  so  fresh,  and  fair,  and  youthful,  in  her  love- 
liness. Her  eyes  were  dewy  violet,  large,  soft  and 
languishing,  with  pearly  lids  and  a  sweeping  fringe 
of  gold.  Her  small,  sweet,  loving  mouth  was  bright 
and  glowing  as  the  inner  heart  of  a  perfumed  rose ; 
and  dainty  dimples  peeped  out  a  moment  and  hid 
again  amid  the  bloom  of  her  fresh,  delicate  cheek. 
Like  a  golden-tinted  cloud,  a  rich  mass  of  shining 
hair  fell  down  in  glittering  waves  about  her  slight 
and  pliant  form.  There  was  a  sweetness  in  the  un- 
certain, timid  smile,  a  purity  upon  the  childish  brow, 
an  innocence  in  the  blue,  limpid  eyes  that  told  of 
girlhood's  sinlessness.  With  glance  bent  bashfully 
upon  the  floor,  and  one  white  foot  advanced  in  hes- 
itating gracefulness,  she  stood  before  the  venerable 
man. 

"  Fair  stranger,  for  such  thy  garb  and  sunny  locks 
betoken  thee,  why  seekest  thou  our  presence  ?  "  lie 
kindly  asked. 

"  0,  thou  great  king  —  O,  thou  most  wise  king 
Solomon,  I  pray  thee  pardon  my  presumption.  I  am 
a  simple  Moabitess  maiden.  I  have  come  from  an- 
other country  to  behold  the  one  whose  great  renown 
is  mighty  among  the  princes  of  the  earth.  I  have 
left  my  kindred  and  the  shadows  of  the  household 
tree,  to  come  and  serve  thee.  Though  I  may  not 


48  FRESH     LEAVES 

hope  to  win  thy  esteem  because  of  our  different  wor- 
ship, let  me  at  least  be  thy  faithful  servant" 

The  words  fell  trembling  from  her  lips  like  drops 
of  liquid  music,  and,  clasping  her  small  hands  be- 
seechingly, she  raised  her  pleading  eyes  softly  to  the 
old  man's  face. 

The  man,  whom  God  had  endowed  with  wonderful 
wisdom,  and  whom  all  the  sages  of  the  earth  did  rev- 
erence to,  was  flattered  more  by  the  modest  words  of 
the  lovely  maiden,  standing  there  in  youthful  grace, 
than  by  all  the  offerings  from  the  nations  of  the 
world. 

"  Draw  nearer,  maiden ;  thy  speech  is  sweet  Let 
me  closely  behold  thy  countenance,  for  it  is  very  fair." 

A  bright  blush  deepened  on  her  cheek,  as  she  ap- 
proached him  with  downcast  eyes.  Then,  as  if  ac- 
tuated by  an  irresistible  impulse,  she  bent  suddenly 
forward  and  pressed  her  warm,  moist  lips  upon  his 
forehead.  Then  falling  on  her  knees,  she  held  her 
clasped  hands  toward  him,  as  if  supplicating  forgive- 
ness. The  monarch  took  those  two  small,  dimpled 
hands  in  his  own  withered  ones,  and,  looking  down 
into  her  blushing  face,  said  softly — 

"  I  have  many  wives,  but  none  that  I  deem  so 
young  and  beautiful  as  thou.  I  love  thee,  gentle 
Moabitess.  Forsake,  then,  the  worship  of  false  gods, 
and  thou  shalt  be  the  favored  wife  of  Solomon." 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  49 

Tears  came  into  the  soft  eyes  of  the  maiden,  and 
*he  spoke  low  and  half  reproachfully. 

"  Kindred  and  country  have  I  forsaken  to  look  on 
thee,  0  king.  Therefore  let  me  serve  thee  as  a  ser- 
vant, in  peace,  and  beseech  me  not  to  forsake  the 
worship  of  my  fathers.  If  it  please  thee,  let  me  die 
to  prove  my  love  for  thee,  but  urge  me  not  to  prove 
false  to  my  idols." 

In  deepening  wonder  and  admiration,  the  monarch 
gazed  upon  the  young  face  glowing  with  enthusiasm. 
His  heart  thrilled  anew  with  the  quick  pulse  of  youth- 
ful feelings,  and  his  self-love  was  flattered  by  this 
proof  of  affection  from  one  so  young,  so  pure,  so 
beautiful.  He  raised  her  to  her  feet.  She  threw 
her  white  arms  around  his  neck,  and,  burying  her 
fair  face  in  his  bosom,  burst  into  a  gush  of  tears. 

"  Weep  not,  beloved,  thou  shalt  be  my  bride,"  said 
Solomon,  tenderly,  folding  his  arms  around  her,  and 
smoothing  those  shining  waves  of  flowing  hair. 

"  Oh !  I  dare  not,  dare  not  wed  thee !  for  fear  my  idol 
will  curse  me,"  said  the  maiden,  with  a  shudder,  turn- 
ing her  tearful  eyes  with  mournful  fondness  to  his  face. 

"  Fear  not !  the  great  God  whom  I  worship,  will 
protect  thee,"  and  he  kissed  the  white  brow  of  the 
weeper. 

"  Nay,  nay,  this  must  be  my  protection,"  replied 
she,  breaking  away  from  his  arms,  and  taking  a  small 


CO  FRESH    LEAVES 

golden  image  from  her  bosom;  she  held  it  to  her  lips, 
and,  closing  her  fair  eyelids,  while  a  soft,  devotional 
smile  hovered  around  her  mouth,  murmured  a  low, 
mild  prayer. 

"  I  love  thee  but  the  more,  that  thou  art  true  to 
thy  faith,  mistaken  though  it  is,"  said  the  monarch 
gently.  "And,  dearest,  I  will  not  ask  thee  to  re- 
nounce thy  worship,  but  only  to  wed  me,  to  be  the 
wife  of  Solomon." 

As  if  she  gathered  inspiration  from  her  prayers, 
the  maiden's  face  grew  radiant  and  bright;  and,  in 
answer  to  his  words,  she  held  toward  him  the  little 
image  in  her  hand,  with  a  smile  a  thousand  times 
more  eloquent  than  words. 

Solomon  hesitated.  Him  whom  God  had  gifted 
with  wisdom  beyond  all  other  men — who  had  served 
the  Lord  his  Creator  all  the  years  of  his  life,  was 
tempted  to  false  worship  by  the  beauty  of  a  woman. 
He  admired  her  truthful  clinging  to  the  religion  she 
had  been  taught  was  right  —  he  loved  her  youthful 
loveliness  —  he  was  fascinated  by  her  pure  face  and 
innocent,  artless  ways.  What  harm  was  it,  if  he  de- 
ceived her  by  the  appearance  of  a  worship  that  he  did 
not  feel  ?  His  God  would  know  that  it  was  done  in 
mockery,  and  the  beautiful  maiden  would  be  his. 

He  looked,  till  the  power  of  resistance  was  gone, 
into  those  beseeching  eyes.  She  placed  the  idol  in 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  51 

his  hands.  He  knelt,  and,  pressing  the  image  to  his 
heart,  he  implored  it  to  bless  him,  and  make  him 
happy  with  his  bride,  and  not  to  harm  her  that  she 
loved  one  who  had  been  of  another  faith. 

"  Now  I  am  thine  own,  my  king,"  said  the  young 
girl  timidly,  when  he  arose.  "  I  do  no  longer  fear  to 
esteem  thee." 

He  took  the  bright  young  creature  to  his  aged 
arms,  and  fondly  kissed  those  red  and  dewy  lips.  And 
she,  half  fearfully,  but  with  bewitching  tenderness, 
twined  her  round,  lily  arms  about  his  ne^k,  and  laid 
her  velvet  cheek,  glowing  with  crimson,  against  his 
wrinkled  temple,  and  talked  to  him  hi  such  sweet, 
artless  tones  as  stole  away  his  very  soul.  And  he, 
forgetful  in  her  caresses  of  the  great  sin  by  which 
he  had  won  her,  listened  to  her  musical  accents,  and 
noted  her  innocent  ways,  and  almost  deemed  her  a 
bright,  wayward,  irresistible  child.  Thus,  with  the 
south  wind,  heavy  with  perfume,  playing  around 
them,  and  lovely  things  in  nature  a  witness  to  the 
scene,  they  sat  together — youth  and  old  age — bright 
tresses  of  gold,  and  locks  of  snow  mingling  in  one — 
like  spring  just  bounding  from  the  arms  of  winter. 

Though  everything  was  beautiful  to  mortal  eyes, 
how  would  one,  gifted  with  a  spiritual  sight,  shud- 
der at  that  fair  scene.  The  greatest  monarch  of  the 
world,  the  wisest  man  whom  God  ever  gifted  with  an 


52  FRESH     LEAVES 

intellect,  the  good  man  and  the  poet,  thus  yielding 
to  the  blandishments  of  the  Tempter. 

Though  his  form  was  far  away  in  the  rolling  sea, 
yet  the  spirit  of  the  Serpent  was  busy  in  that  scene. 

"  Tliis  is  a  glorious  triumph,"  was  his  thought;  "  I 
chose  a  fitting  instrument  to  execute  my  purpose. 
Even  this  great  prodigy  of  intellect  yields  at  the  first 
temptation.  Oh !  deeply  rooted  are  the  seeds  of  virtue 
in  this  most  wonderful  race,  who  are  my  playthings ! 
This  innocent  child,  here,  would  find  it  difficult  to  an- 
alyze the  reason  for  her  feelings — she  suspected  not 
the  spirit  that  was  restlessly  urging  her  to  this  strange 
conduct,  and  so  she  deemed  it  love!  Pho!  love!  so 
do  I  love  Solomon ! " 

Oh!  thou  sneerer  —  oh!  thou  scoffer  —  oh!  thou 
taunter  of  our  race!  great  is  thy  power,  and  many 
are  thy  victories!  But  the  hand  that  formed  us, 
fusliioned  tliee,  also  —  and  we  may  not  know  His 
wisdom. 


A  man  of  glorious  presence  walked  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Mingling  together  in  his  form  were  all  the 
elements  of  manly  and  spiritual  beauty.  His  large, 
slow-moving  eyes  were  a  clear  gray,  earnest,  and  pure, 
and  tender.  His  high,  white  brow  was  placid  and 
unshadowed,  and  a  white  gleam  of  sometliing  spiritual 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  53 

and  inexpressible  lingered  upon  its  polished  greatness 
like  a  halo.  His  mouth  slept  in  the  still  repose  of 
perfect  beauty,  and  floating  round  it,  as  it  were  an 
atmosphere,  was  an  expression  of  ineffable  tranquillity, 
and  holy,  thoughtful  sweetness.  Parted  from  his 
pure  temples,  his  brown  hair  floated  free  in  waving 
curls,  catching  a  gleam  of  gold  upon  their  curving 
richness,  around  his  white  and  polished  throat.  His 
form  was  moulded  into  manly  grace ;  and  his  bearing 
was  one  of  singular  dignity,  repose,  and  lofty  meek- 
ness. Alone,  in  the  dim  wilderness,  he  walked  with 
musing  step  and  countenance  of  sweet  tranquillity. 
Soft  shadows  flitted  over  him  and  lay  around  him  in 
fantastic  shapes.  The  shining  foliage  above  him  rus- 
tled musically  in  the  breeze,  and  tiny  insects  filled  the 
air  with  a  low  hum  of  joy.  And,  as  he  paced  to  and 
fro  over  the  green  turf,  these  tilings  were  his  com- 
panions. Then  the  solemn  twilight  crept,  with  invis- 
ible footsteps,  through  the  wood;  and  the  bright  stars 
came  out  and  sent  soft  messengers  of  light,  with  sil- 
ver-sandaled feet,  to  read  the  expression  of  his  match- 
less brow,  and  look  within  his  calm,  clear  eyes,  and 
rest  a  moment  on  the  perfect  lip.  And  when  he  wea- 
ried of  his  musing  mood,  and  laid  him  down  upon  the 
mossy  earth  and  slept,  these  silent  messengers  still 
hovered  round  to  watch  his  gentle  slumber. 

And  still,  on  the  next  day,  that  immaculate  form 


54  FRESH     LEAVES 

was  roaming  beneath  the  shadows  in  the  deep  green 
wilderness.  There  was  no  cooling  stream  or  fountain 
near  to  moisten  his  lip,  nor  fruit  upon  the  trees  to 
tempt  his  taste. 

And  night  again  succeeded  day,  and  day  succeeded 
night,  thus  on  and  on  till  forty  days  had  passed.  Yet 
still  the  glorious  stranger  stayed,  as  held  by  some 
strange  power,  a  wanderer  hi  the  wilderness.  No 
food  had  passed  his  lips.  His  face  was  a  shade  paler, 
and  his  brow  contracted  with  the  intense  pangs  of 
hunger.  He  bore  his  suffering  calmly,  and  mur- 
mured not  at  the  pain  which  tortured  him. 

Yet  was  he  not  alone  —  for  a  dark  eye  was  ever  on 
him,  marking,  with  eagerness,  his  every  step,  and 
watching  every  change  upon  that  heavenly  counte- 
nance. And  when  it  saw  the  anguish,  subdued  but 
deep,  upon  that  holy  face,  a  fierce  sparkle  of  exulta- 
tion lit  up  that  evil  eye. 

Then  the  dark  spirit  with  the  watchful  eye,  took 
the  semblance  of  a  form,  and  stood  before  the  stran- 
ger, and  tempted  him.  He  led  him  to  the  pinnacle  of 
a  temple,  and  the  top  of  an  exceeding  high  mountain, 
and  offered  him  the  riches  and  glory  of  the  world,  if 
he  would  but  fall  down  and  worship  him. 

In  vain,  in  vain  to  strive  to  win  the  Son  of  God, 
O  Serpent !  Angels  have  yielded  to  thy  tempting. 
But  let  not  thy  daring  eyes  rest  on  that  glorious  brow ! 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  55 

Away!  away!  back,  spirit,  to  thy  loathsome  form, 
deep  in  the  ocean  floating. 

Baffled  in  his  wild,  daring  thought,  the  tempter 
disappeared.  And  lo!  bright  angels  circled  down  on 
glittering  pinions,  and,  with  pure  worshiping,  and  holy 
awe,  and  gentle  hands,  they  ministered  to  the  immac- 
ulate being,  who,  alone  and  solitary  in  the  dim  shad- 
ows and  the  musical  air,  had  fasted  forty  days  and 
forty  nights  in  the  deep  recess  of  a  mighty  wilderness. 

Ah!  boaster,  amid  furious  waves,  be  still!  Pure 
angels'  holy  hands,  not  thine,  allayed  the  sufferings 
of  the  Son  of  God. 


KRE81I    LKAVK8 


CHAPTER    V. 

DARKNESS  covered  the  face  of  the  earth — thick, 
heavy,  palpable  darkness.  Impenetrable  gloom 
shrouded  the  city  of  Jerusalem.  A  blackness  that 
could  be  felt,  hid  from  the  eyes  of  mockers  the  most 
disgraceful  scene  that  ever  stained  \fre  souls  of  men, 
•with  foul  and  hideous  crime. 

Oh!  awful  day  —  oh!  day  of  agony!  when  all 
the  anguish  of  a  dying  world  throbbed  out  its  death- 
throe  in  one  sinless  breast  How,  at  the  inglorious 
sight  of  that  wild  human  throng  torturing  and  mock- 
ing the  Son  of  God,  did  the  sun  withdraw  his  light, 
and  hide  his  shuddering  face  in  a  black  vail  of 
mourning,  and  the  pure  stars  shrink,  pale  and  trem- 
bling, from  the  brow  of  heaven! 

Peace!  ye  infuriate  throng!  hush  the  wild  storm 
of  passion  in  your  misguided  breasts!  And  doth  this 
solemn  darkness  fill  ye  with  trembling?  and  do  your 
tumultuous  ravings  sink  lower  and  lower  to  a  fearful 


FKOM    WESTEKJN      VYUUJJO.  57 

whisper  —  your  maddened  hearts  quail  with  a  name- 
less dread  —  your  souls  quail  with  a  terrible  thought 
of  future  vengeance  ?  Too  late !  the  deed  is  done, 
the  penalty  incurred  which  ye  so  eagerly  entreated: 
"Let  his  blood  be  on  us  and  on  our  children!  "  Ye 
shall  be  wanderers,  outcasts  —  a  despised,  insulted, 
hated,  down-trodden  race.  Ye  have  crucified  your 
Immanuel!  Ye  have  mocked  your  King  in  the  hall 
of  Pretorium;  have  robed  his  perfect  form  in  the 
insulting  purple ;  have  pierced  his  glorious  brow  with 
cruel  thorns;  have  hailed  him  with  coarse  jests  and 
sneering  cries ;  have  given  him  the  bitter  gall ;  have 
pierced  his  delicate  limbs  with  agonizing  wounds ! 

Oh !  pitying  darkness,  thou  didst  do  well  to  shroud 
the  scene !  There  was  one  who  sat  near  the  foot  of 
the  cross,  whom  the  palpable  gloom  weighed  down 
with  fear.  He  would  have  risen,  but  his  powerless 
limbs  would  not  support  him.  His  arms  were  folded 
over  his  bosom ;  his  drooping  head  was  buried  in  the 
folds  of  his  mantle.  A  cold,  leaden  stillness  put  its 
hand  upon  his  spirit's  throbbings.  A  giant  thought 
pressed"  down  his  heart,  and  lay  upon  his  brain. 
Shuddering  at  the  chill,  slimy  touch  of  a  huge  form, 
invisible  in  the  darkness,  the  crowd  gave  way,  and 
a  low,  hateful  voice  whispered  in  the  ear  of*  the 
unhappy  man : 

"  Henceforward  our  destinies  are  somewhat  united. 


SB  FRESH     LEAVES 

I  place  this  ring  upon  thy  finger— when  I  am  near, 
or  when  my  will  has  had  an  influence  on  thy  desti- 
ny, the  ring  will  glow  with  a  burning,  lurid  light 
It  matters  not  who  I  am  —  I  have  been  in  the  gar- 
den of  Eden,  and  my  influence  has  the  human  race 
oft  felt  I  am  its  best  friend  —  ha!  ha!  at  least, 
I  make  them  deem  me  so.  I  love  this  scene.  Fare- 
well! we  shall  meet  as  often  as  once  a  century  — 
ha!  ha!" 

A  deep  groan  struggled  upward  from  the  bosom 
of  the  wretched  doomed  one,  and  he  strove  to  cast 
away  the  ring  which  he  felt  burning  around  his  fin- 
ger—  but  he  could  not  move  it 

The  tormentor  glided  away  as  he  had  come,  under 
cover  of  the  darkness.  From  the  si^Rh  hour  to  the 
ninth  the  gloom  prevailed.  And  when  the  terrible 
scene  was  ended,  and  that  wretched  man  sitting  at 
the  foot  of  the  cross  rose  up  and  went  away,  a  fearful 
change  had  come  upon  his  pride  of  manliness.  His 
noble  brow  was  furrowed  with  deep  lines — the  glossy 
curls  of  raven  hair,  that  lay  upon  his  temples,  were 
streaked  here  and  there  with  gray,  and  the  proud  fire 
of  his  eagle  eye  was  gone.  But,  with  a  powerful 
effort,  he  shook  off  the  first  great  anguish  of  despair, 
wrapped  his  mantle  with  its  wonted  grace  around  his 
noble  form,  and  walked  with  slow,  heart-heavy  steps 
toward  his  princely  dwelling.  There  was  a  sound  of 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  59 

mourning  in  its  marble  halls.  Wailing  and  lamenta- 
tion met  his  ear.  A  nameless  thought  of  evil  chilled 
his  pulse,  and  past  the  servants,  who  knew  him  not, 
he  was  so  changed,  he  hurried  to  the  chamber  of  his 
wife.  Motionless  he  stood  a  moment  at  the  entrance. 
The  scene  within  had  almost  palsied  him,  and  he 
could  only  stand  and  gaze  with  vacant  glance,  like 
one  who  saw,  but  comprehended  not 

His  gentle  wife  was  kneeling,  in  the  first  great 
agony  of  grief,  by  a  low  couch  —  her  white  face  hid 
among  its  silken  drapery  —  mute,  tearless,  almost  life- 
less. At  its  foot  stood  two  beautiful  young  girls,  his 
children,  clasping  each  other  in  a  cold  embrace,  and 
weeping  as  if  every  sob  came  from  a  breaking  heart 

Upon  the  pillow  lay  his  youngest  child,  his  pet  his 
pride,  his  treasure,  his  only  boy — his  bright,  buoyant, 
matchless  child,  his  beautiful  one,  the  light  of  his  eyes — ' 
dead !  The  pure,  high  brow,  so  princely  in  its  youthful 
perfectness,  was  chill  and  pale  —  the  snowy  lids  were 
fixed  and  still,  hiding  for  ever  from  those  loving  hearts 
the  brilliant  flash  of  those  dark,  radiant  eyes,  whose 
witching  glance  was  sunlight  to  the  threshold  of  that 
palace  home.  The  blood  that,  bright  and  beautiful, 
gleamed  through  his  dimpled  cheeks,  had  faded  and 
grown  cold,  never  again  to  bound,  with  childhood's 
crimson  gladness,  to  that  tiny  tracery  of  blue  veins 
lying  beneath  the  clearness  of  its  polished  surface. 


60  FRESH    LEAVES. 

The  small,  plump  hands  were  folded  motionless  upon 
his  infant  breast,  and  those  tiny  feet,  whose  soft,  quick 
sound  upon  the  chamber  floor  was  music  to  each  ear, 
might  never  bound  with  gay  delight  to  meet  his 
father's  coming  step. 

The  eyes  of  the  unhappy  parent  turned  instinctively 
to  the  ring  upon  his  finger.  It  glowed  and  sparkled 
like  living  flame,  with  a  light  that  almost  blinded  him. 

"  Oh  God !  "  burst  from  his  ashen  lips. 

The  weeping  girls  started  at  the  sound,  but  the 
mother  heard  not  —  heeded  not 

"Father!  oh  father!"  sobbed  his  daughters,  com- 
ing forward,  and  each  taking  one  of  his  cold  and 
dewy  hands.  % 

But  still  he  moved  not  from  the  threshold,  nor  gave 
^one  other  token  of  his  mighty  grief.  The  fair  young 
creatures  clinging  to  him  were  frightened  at  his  aspect 

"  Comfort  our  mother!  "  pleaded  the  soft  voice  of 
the  elder. 

Slowly  he  advanced,  and  bending  over  that  almost 
insensible  form,  he  raised  her  in  his  arms. 

"Wife!" 

"  My  husband!" 

They  were  in  each  other's  clasp;  and  great,  round 
tears  rolled  over  the  face  of  the  proud  man,  in  an- 
swer to  the  wild,  passionate  sobs  breaking  from  her 
who  lay  upon  his  bosom. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  61 

The  two  young  girls  advanced  timidly  toward  their 
parents.  "  Father !  mother !  are  we  not  left  to  you — 
and  do  we  not  love  you  ?  " 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  bright  children !  Partner 
of  my  bosom!  in  our  affliction  let  us  not  forget  that 
God  is  merciful "  —  and  the  strong  man  strove  to  be 
calm  —  "  daughters,  come,  too  —  ye  are  all  left  me !  " 
and  opening  his  arms,  the  four  weepers  were  twined 
in  one  embrace. 

Then  the  father,  for  the  first  time,  approached  the 
couch,  and  laid  the  soft  curls  back  from  the  beautiful 
brow  of  the  dead,  and  gazed  long  upon  the  sweet, 
pale,  face,  and  kissed  the  childish  mouth,  yet  red  with 
the  last  heart-ljeat,  and  took  the  tiny  hand  of  dimpled 
snow  in  his,  while  the  mourners  turned  away  and  hid 
their  faces. 

They  scarcely  knew  that  man  with  the  calm,  stern 
expression  of  sorrow  on  his  face,  the  furrowed  brow, 
the  raven  hair  threaded  with  gray,  as  him  who  went 
so  full  of  pride  and  joy  that  morning  from  them. 


3* 


62  FRESH     LEAVES 

A  TEMPEST  on  the  ocean!  ah,  hapless  mariners! 
Yet  one  there  was  who  stood  upon  the  deck  of  that 
small  ship  and  gazed  through  the  deepening  gloom, 
with  a  calm  joy,  upon  the  furious  storm.  The  spray 
that  dashed  upon  his  face,  the  howling,  shrieking 
wind,  the  tossing  waves,  the  angry  deep  below,  to 
him  were  a  delight  He  smiled  to  hear  the  crash  of 
thunder,  and  the  lightning's  flash  was  joy.  And  its 
lurid  gleam,  falling  at  quick  intervals  upon  his  form, 
betrayed  his  strange  appearance.  A  long  robe  flowed 
about  his  withered  but  majestic  form.  His  long  white 
hair  floated  upon  the  wind,  and  his  snowy  beard  hung 
almost  to  his  knees.  The  impress  of  two  centuries 
was  on  his  lofty  and  care-stricken  brow ;  and  beneath 
its  hanging  arches  gleamed  out  a  pair  of  eyes,  wild, 
dark,  and  glittering  with  a  deep,  strange  glow.  He 
had  lived  on  till  he  had  seen  his  kindred,  one  by  one, 
laid  in  their  graves,  his  nation  scattered,  and  his  city 
desolate  —  each  tie  which  bound  him  to  the  world 
unfastened  —  and  he  had  but  one  longing,  one  un- 
speakable desire :  to  follow  his  lost  ones  to  the  tomb- 
to  die,  and  be  at  rest 

Earnestly  he  besought  the  God  of  his  fathers,  amid 
the  anger  of  the  tempest,  for  the  death  for  which  he 
ytmed. 

The  storm  grew  wilder  in  its  fury — a  mountain 
wave  swept  over  the  rocking  vessel,  —  a  hundred  pale 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  63 

and  sinking  forms  were  disappearing  beneath  the 
foaming  billows.  A  lurid  glare  of  lightning,  in  al- 
most constant  flashes,  revealed  that  old  man  with  the 
snowy  beard,  his  white  hair  floating  for  an  instant  on 
the  wave.  Then,  with  a  cry  of  gladness,  that  rung 
strangely  above  the  tumult  of  the  storm,  he  sank! 
Down  —  down  —  his  senses  in  a  whirl,  and  pain  giving 
way  to  a  delicious  sense  of  dizzy,  whirling  dreams  and 
ringing  music  in  his  brain  —  when  suddenly  a  voice 
that  seemed  familiar,  was  in  his  ear,  saying  —  "Not 
yet!  not  yet!" 

Then  he  became  insensible.  He  felt  not  the  strong 
hold  which  dragged  him  on  for  many  miles  through 
the  deep  waves,  and  laid  him  down  at  length,  breath- 
ing, but  senseless,  on  a  rocky  shore.  He  knew  not  of 
the  malicious  eyes  that  watched  him,  till  the  first  faint 
quiver  of  his  own  eyelids.  He  heard  not  the  splash 
of  the  huge  form  in  the  ocean,  but  he  knew  that  the 
Serpent  was  his  deliverer,  for,  his  faint  glance  wander- 
ing to  the  fatal  ring,  his  shuddering  sight  beheld  the 
curious  glow  that  oft  and  oft,  in  those  two  centuries, 
had  brought  him  woe. 

Nearly  two  centuries  from  that  fearful  day,  when 
Christ  was  crucified,  had  passed  by,  when  the  Wan- 
dering Jew  was  left  by  fate  upon  the  coast  of  Greece. 

Sick,  sick  at  heart,  and  weak  with  suffering,  he  lay 
for  hours  upon  the  cold,  wet  rock,  uttering  low  groans 


64  FRESH    LEAVES 

of  anguish  and  despair.  The  clouds  had  cleared  away, 
and  the  mighty  deep  grown  calm.  The  moon  looked 
down  upon  the  old  man's  pillow,  silvering  his  long, 
white  beard,  and  shining  coldly  and  pitilessly  upon  his 
Bad  and  desolate  countenance. 

Morning  came  at  length,  and  the  old  man  rose,  and, 
with  weary  steps,  went  forward  on  his  endless  jour- 
ney. A  low-browed  cottage  rose  before  him,  not  far 
from  the  shore.  A  young  girl,  fair  and  fresh  as  the 
rose-tinted  dawn,  stood  at  the  threshold,  twining  her 
dark  hair  over  her  slender  finger.  He  approached, 
and,  saying  he  had  been  shipwrecked,  supplicated  for 
her  charity. 

He  was  a  Jew,  but  the  heart  of  the  maiden  was 
kind,  and  she  gave  him  a  seat  by  the  vine-clad  case- 
ment, and  placed  the  simple  morning  meal  before 
him.  Wine,  too,  she  brought  to  refresh  the  aged 
wanderer,  and  then  went,  singing,  to  her  morning 
tasks. 

The  old  man  wept  at  her  kindness,  blessed  her 
sweet  face,  and  departed. 

That  night,  a  burning  spot  of  red  came  out  upon 
the  maiden's  bosom.  She  drooped,  sickened,  died. 
Before  another  day  she  was  a  blackened  corse.  Broth- 
ers and  sisters,  father,  mother,  caught  the  infectious 
disease,  and  died— friends  followed.  Over  the  land, 
from  valley  to  city,  the  pestilence  spread  —  farther, 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  65 

farther,  like  the  wind,  it  swept  over  every  known  por- 
tion of  the  globe.  Death — death!  was  everywhere — 
sudden,  certain,  loathsome  death !  It  was  no  time  for 
love  —  it  was  no  time  for  partings  —  it  was  no  time 
for  prayer.  The  maiden  with  her  brow  of  snow  and 
lips  of  red  —  the  lover  with  his  hoping  heart  and 
eagle  eye — the  mother  with  her  tender  glance — the 
babe  upon  her  yearning  bosom — the  proud,  ambitious 
sire  —  the  man  of  fame — in  cottage  and  in  palace  — 
in  desert  place,  and  lonely  valley,  and  populous  city — 
all  felt  the  desolating  scourge. 

Oh!  terrible!  to  thus  be  made  the  instrument  of 
punishment  to  the  increasing  wickedness  of  earth! 
What  should  he  do  —  where  should  he  go  ?  Build- 
ing himself  a  little  boat,  the  Wandering  Jew,  Avho  had 
traveled  to  the  extremest  north  of  Asia,  placed  a  few 
days'  sustenance  in  it,  and,  with  no  oar,  nor  aught  to 
guide  him,  entered  his  slight  vessel,  and  drifted  out 
into  the  ocean,  at  the  mercy  of  the  waves.  For  a 
week  a  gentle  wind  wafted  him  onward,  when  he  came 
in  sight  of  land.  A  mighty  country  was  stretched 
out  before  him,  great  as  the  one  he  left  Was  it  in- 
habited? His  boat  drifted  upon  the  gravel  of  the 
shore  —  his  feet  were  on  the  soil  of  the  new  earth. 
A  forest  lay  before  him.  He  entered  it;  and  his 
heart  thrilled  within  him,  at  the  surprising  loveliness 
of  nature.  The  air  was  full  of  melody  from  warblers 


66  FRESH    LEAVES 

with  bright,  glancing  wings  —  the  tall  trees  towered 
upward  to  the  sky,  covered  with  rich,  green  foliage — 
bright,  beautiful  flowers,  with  dewy  eyes,  peeped  out 
from  mossy  shelter  —  a  musical  stream  went  singing 
on  to  mingle  with  the  glancing  waters  of  the  ocean. 
The  heart  of  the  lonely  man  was  gladder  than  it  had 
been  for  a  hundred  years.  For,  in  a  paradise  like 
this  if  he  was  doomed  to  fire  till  time  was  ended,  he 
could,  at  least,  be  a  curse  to  no  one  but  himself — the 
beautiful  of  earth,  and  a  still  place  to  pray  for  mercy 
in,  would  be  his.  Onward  he  went,  with  joyful  steps, 
when  suddenly  he  paused  What  saw  he,  in  that 
dim  and  mighty  wilderness  ?  A  Jewish  temple. 

Yes!  there  it  stood  —  guttering  among  the  forest 
trees  —  magnificent  almost  as  the  one  that  fell  with 
the  fall  of  Jerusalem.  The  entrance  door  was  open, 
lie  went  in.  Silver,  and  gold,  and  precious  stones 
were  *Hining  on  the  altar,  and  the  pillars,  and  the 
roof.  Rich  silken  curtains  fell  before  the  inner  sanc- 
tuary— the  sanctum  sanctorum. 

An  aged  priest  was  in  the  temple.  He  spoke  to 
him  in  the  Hebrew.  They  sat  and  conversed  to- 
gether. The  holy  man  honored  him  as  a  prophet 
sent  by  Heaven  to  their  nation — the  lost  tribes  of 
IsraeL 

He  led  him  farther  on  to  where  some  of  the  in- 
had  built  them  habitations.  The  people 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  67 

received  him  as  a  holy  messenger.  He  told  them 
of  the  coming  of  a  Messiah  —  of  his  crucifixion  —  of 
the  persecution  of  their  people.  The  tidings  filled 
them  with  grief  and  wonder. 

They  besought  him,  earnestly,  to  stay  with  them, 
and  did  him  reverence  and  honor.  And  he  remain- 
ed ;  for  a  century,  the  ring  upon  his  finger  forgot  its 
hateful  sparkle. 

But  the  curse  was  upon  him. 

The  same  fearful  pestilence,  which  he  had  sown 
through  the  world,  appeared  among  his  brethren. 
With  a  wretched  heart  and  an  aching  brain,  he 
again  constructed  a  frail,  light  skiff,  and  committed 
himself  to  the  sea.  But  perish  he  could  not,  and 
the  winds  bore  him  again  to  Asia's  shores. 


"88  FRESH    LEA.VE8 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IT  was  a  gala-day  in  Rome.  The  seats  of  the  im- 
mense ampitheater  were  crowded  with  thousands 
of  eager  spectators.  What  pleasant  and  exciting 
spectacle  had  drawn  together  this  vast  throng  of 
human  beings?  The  emperor,  himself,  and  his  gor- 
geous court  sat  under  a  canopy  of  crimson  velvet,  in 
a  splendid  pavilion,  to  witness  the  scene. 

Fifty  wild  beasts  and  three  hundred  Christians 
had  been  provided  for  the  day's  entertainment! 

Fair,  delicate  ladies  looked  on  approvingly.  Moth- 
ers brought  their  young  children  to  the  joyous  sight 
There  was  one  among  the  spectators  who  looked  on, 
pale,  shuddering,  and  aghast  It  was  the  old  man 
with  the  flowing  robe,  the  strange,  deep  eyes,  and 
the  beard  of  streaming  snow.  Who  shall  ever  tell 
the  feelings  of  remorse,  the  loathing  of  life,  the  great 
thought  of  punishment  endured,  which  agitated  that 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  69 

enduring  bosom  ?  Who  shall  whisper  me  fearful  se- 
crets of  five  centuries,  lying  buried  in  that  desolate 
heart  ?  Oh !  how  every  shriek  of  anguish  from  the 
unhappy  sufferers  pierced  to  his  brain!  how  every 
pale,  imploring  face  tortured  his  soul  with  memories 
of  that  awful  hour,  when  the  Messiah  of  their  faith 
suffered  all  of  their  agony  in  his  immaculate  person! 
how  every  despairing  gaze  which  chanced  to  rest  upon 
his  face,  renewed  the  curse  burning  within  his  soul 
He  almost  expected  that  those  three  terrible  hours 
of  darkness  would  again  hide  this  horrible  scene. 

The  fearful  sport  went  on.  Pale  women,  with  their 
helpless  babes  clasped  to  their  bosoms,  were  given  to 
the  lions'  jaws.  Young  maidens,  white  with  horror, 
with  clasped  hands,  closed  eyes,  and  streaming  hair, 
were  tossed  into  the  arena.  Men,  faint  and  weak 
with  torture,  were  armed  with  a  single  dagger  to 
prolong  the  excitement,  and  made  to  battle  with 
starved,  furious  beasts. 

The  ring  on  the  old  man's  finger  glowed  with  in- 
tense light  It  almost  blinded  him  to  look  upon  it 
Amid  the  shrieking  of  victims,  and  the  howling  of 
fierce  animals,  he  could  distinctly  hear  a  whisper,  that 
had  long  been  familiar  to  his  shuddering  ear: 

"  I  am  here  —  I  am  here !  to  exult  in  this  scene  of 
my  devising.  Is  it  not  a  pleasant  sight  ?  Thou,  too, 
methinks,  once  lent  a  helping  hand  to  bring  about  this 


70  FRESH    LEAVES 

glorious  result  Mark!  how  the  elect  of  God  meet, 
unshrinking,  their  fate.  Hal  for  every  wretch  that 
enters  that  arena  this  day,  shall  I  have  a  dozen  of 
the  souls  of  these  spectators.  Dost  not  thou  rejoice 
with  me  in  my  triumph,  good  friend  ?  " 

"  Fiend  !  tempter  !  serpent !  tormentor  !  away  ! 
Give  me  a  little  peace,"  muttered  the  Jew. 

"  Peace  !  ha !  ha !  have  I  not  been  thy  bosom 
friend  for  centuries?  Nay!  by  thy  beard  of  snow, 
I  leatfe  thee  not" 

"  Be  quiet,  then," 

"  Will  it  oblige  thee,  friend?" 

« It  will." 

"  Faith !  if  it  were  for  nothing  but  to  lay  thee  un- 
der a  new  obligation  to  thy  master,  I  would  comply," 
and  again  the  tormentor  laughed  maliciously. 

The  old  man  groaned. 

New  victims  were  each  moment  thrust  into  the 
xena  One  hundred  and  fifty  had  met  their  fate 
a  the  morning  drama;  and  the  number  of  those  re- 
maining was  rapidly  diminishing.  Some  fainted  the 
moment  they  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and  were 
brought  to  consciousness  by  the  horrible  pangs  of 
being  torn  apart  alive.  Others  fought  with  the  en- 
ergy of  madmen,  in  the  hope  of  winning  freedom 
by  their  bravery.  Some  came  with  pale,  calm  faces, 
and  brows  that  almost  seemed  to  glow  with  haloes 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  7l" 

of  glory,  so  holy  and  resigned  was  their  expression; 
and  met  their  fate  without  a  murmur,  with  prayer 
upon  ther  meek,  white  lips. 

The  crael  scene  was  well  nigh  ended.  Only  one 
victim,  a  roung  girl  who  had  been  retained  for  the 
closing  s  ene,  on  account  of  her  rare  beauty,  now 
remained. 

The  srtiated  animals  were  taken  away,  and  the 
mangled  *x>dies  of  the  dead  borne  off  in  carts.  Those 
who  were  only  wounded,  or  not  yet  dead,  were  fin- 
ished by  daggers. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  entrance  at  one  side  of 
the  amphitheater  was  opened,  the  maiden  thrust  in, 
and  the  door  closed. 

The  spectators  held  their  breath  in  wonder  and 
awe,  as  they  gazed  upon  her.  Beautiful  as  a  star, 
white  as  marble,  calm  as  the  hush  of  midnight,  she 
stood  in  the  arena.  They  could  scarcely  tell  she 
breathed,  as  with  her  small  hands  clasped  over  the 
snowy  vesture  which  covered  her  still  bosom,  her 
sweet  face  uplifted  slightly  toward  heaven,  and  a 
cloud  of  ebon  tresses  sweeping  around  her  perfect 
form,  down  even  to  her  feet,  she  stood  mute,  placid, 
holy,  before  the  silent  throng.  Why  was  the  old  man 
so  strangely  agitated,  as  he  gazed  upon  her  ?  She 
was  the  very  likeness  of  his  eldest  child,  his  glori- 
ous daughter,  the  bright  being  who  had  slumbered 


72  FRESH    LEAVES 

in  the  dust  for  near  five  hundred  years.  There 
were  the  delicate  features,  the  exquisite  brow,  the 
black,  shining,  luxurious  hair,  the  sweet,  pure  mouth, 
the  graceful  throat  and  swelling,  slender  form,  and 
the  proud,  spiritual,  dark  eyes. 

The  hush  through  the  vast  multitude  was  deathly 
intense.  The  opposite  entrance  was  unclosed,  and  a 
huge  lion,  furious  with  the  pangs  of  hunger,  appeared 
with  glaring  eyeballs  wrthin  the  enclosure,  still  held 
by  his  strong  keepers,  who  waited  the  signal  from  the 
emperor.  The  eyes  of  the  maiden  turned  slowly  to 
the  restless  animal  Calm — white  —  still  —  a  close 
observer  might  have  noticed  a  slight  trembling  of 
the  long,  rich  lashes,  a  scarcely  perceptible  heave  of 
the  beautiful  breast 

The  hard  hearts  of  the  crowd  were  melted  —  not 
into  pity,  but  into  sympathy  with  that  calm  bravery, 
that,  whatever  might  be  its  cause,  awakened  their 
admiration. 

"A  pardon  —  a  pardon  —  good  emperor!  let  her 
live ! "  shouted  a  thousand  voices. 

The  eyes  of  the  monarch  were  resting  eagerly  upon 
her  loveliness.  "  Take  her  away !  "  he  cried ;  "  bring 
another  to  the  sacrifice !  cannot  a  morsel  be  found  to 
stay  the  lion's  hunger?" 

"  Here!  here  is  a  Jew!  will  you  have  him?"  ans- 
wered back  those  who  surrounded  the  aged  wanderefc 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  73 

"  Aye !  throw  Mm  in,"  responded  the  emperor. 

The  old  man  was  tossed  into  the  circle  below,  and 
the  people  gazed  with  a  mixture  of  curiosity  and  con- 
tempt upon  the  strange  being  thus  unceremoniously 
condemned  to  a  cruel  death.  The  maiden  was  led 
away,  and  the  signal  given  for  the  release  of  the 
howling  beast. 

He  had  crept  half  around  the  circle,  with  his  fiery 
eyes  fixed  on  the  sea  of  faces  above  him,  before  he 
perceived  the  victim.  He  paused  —  gave  a  low,  deep 
growl,  and  commenced  bounding  around  the  arena, 
giving,  at  every  leap,  a  repetition  of  that  peculiar  howl. 

The  spectators  leaned  forward. 

In  lessening  circles,  the  huge  animal  bounded 
\round  the  ring,  nearing  the  object  of  his  anger  or 
jight  at  every  circuit,  till  the  space  between  them 
was  limited  to  a  few  feet  Here  he  paused,  crouched 
V)w  for  a  spring,  bounded  up,  and  fell  dead  at  the 
.)ld  man's  feet. 

The  king  of  the  forest,  a  huge,  fierce  beast,  the 
particular  favorite  of  the  emperor,  lay  lifeless  at  the 
feet  of  the  aged  Jew,  the  strange  man  in  the  black . 
robe  and  white  beard. 

"  A  miracle !  a  miracle !  "  shouted  the  crowd. 

"  Let  him  die !  "  cried  the  monarch  fiercely. 

Instantly  a  cloud  of  javelins  and  arrows  darkened 
the  arena,  but  the  object  of  their  wrath  was  uninjured. 


74  FRESH    LEAVES 

The  entrance  was  burst  open  by  a  band  of  soldiers, 
who,  as  they  proceeded  to  seize  him,  the  Wandering 
Jew  put  quietly  aside,  and  disappeared  among  the 
multitude. 


The  robes  of  Paris  were  dyed  crimson  with  blood ! 
in  her  right  hand,  she  held  aloft  the  fatal  axe,  red 
with  slaughter!  her  voice  was  loud  with  blasphemy, 
her  eyes  were  red  with  evil  passions,  her  heart  was 
black  with  infidelity!  She  erected  an  altar  to  the 
Goddess  of  Liberty,  and  sacrificed  upon  its  scarlet 
fires  all  things  that  were  pure  and  holy. 

Who  aided  her  in  this  monstrous  work  ?  who  was 
an  enthusiastic  votary  at  the  altar  of  the  goddess? 
who  added  to  the  list  of  her  victims,  till  the  life- 
blood,  which  flowed  at  her  feet,  had  nearly  risen  and 
extinguished,  with  its  swelling  streams,  the  unholy 
fires  which  burned  upon  the  shrine  ? 

A  little  child  played  once  in  a  gay  garden.  The 
sky  was  bright,  and  the  air  pleasant ;  the  birds  war- 
bled, and  the  flowers  were  fair  and  sweet  The  child 
•aw  a  brilliant  butterfly  hovering  on  beautiful  win<*s 
among  the  fragrant  blossoms,  and  away  he  sped  in 
pursuit  of  the  tiny  treasure  —  away!  away!  Now  it 
was  almost  within  his  eager  grasp,  and  again  it  was 
far  beyond.  At  last  it  was  his!  His  small  fingers 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  75 

pressed  tightly  those  radiant  but  delicate  wings,  lest 
the  little  flutterer  should  escape.  But  the  bright  in- 
sect grew  still,  and,  when  he  relaxed  his  hold  to  give 
it  freedom,  it  fell  into  his  lap,  dead.  The  glittering 
hue,  which  had'  made  it  so  beautiful,  was  clinging 
like  particles  of  fine  dust  to  his  fingers.  The  little 
boy  burst  into  tears.  Long  and  bitterly  he  wept  at 
his  unthinking  cruelty  in  destroying  the  gay  butterfly. 
His  joyous  spirit  was  saddened,  and  the  sunlight  did 
not  seem  so  pleasant,  nor  the  flowers  so  sweet,  as  they 
had  done.  And  this  little  boy,  who  wept  at  the  death 
of  a  butterfly  —  who  went  and  buried  it  carefully 
between  two  green  leaves  in  the  corner  of  the  garden — 
was  Robespierre! 

Yet  the  Serpent  selected  this  tender-hearted  child,  as 
the  instrument  of  his  cunning — the  greatest  actor  in  the 
fearful  drama  of  which  the  Tempter  was  the  inspira- 
tion —  France  the  theatre  —  a  nation  the  performers. 

Oh!  how  the  Serpent  gloated  in  those  days  of 
terror,  over  the  appalling  vice  of  which  he  was  the 
instigator. 

O 

Ever,  in  that  season  of  blood  and  crime,  an  old 
man  walked  to  and  fro  through  the  streets  of  Paris. 
No  one  knew  from  whence  he  came,  nor  what  was 
his  mission.  It  was  he  in  the  black,  flowing  robe, 
and  sad,  strange  countenance.  Many  remarked  him. 
Some  thought  he  mourned  for  murdered  friends  — 


76  FRESH     LEAVES 

others,  who  noticed  the  fiery  ring  which  glowed  upon 
his  finger,  deemed  him  a  conjuror.  In  mere  excess 
of  wanton  cruelty  they  would  fire  upon  the  meek, 
calm  stranger,  or  thrust  their  bayonets  into  his  person — 
but  they  never  seemed  to  injure  him.  When  this 
became  known,  many  deemed  him  an  evil  spirit 

He  was  present  at  the  great  bonfire  of  the  Sacred 
Writings  in  the  streets  of  the  city;  and  when  the 
king  and  queen  were  guillotined;  and  heard  the 
blasphemer  who  rode  through  the  streets  defying 
God,  and  who,  that  night,  died  of  the  sting  of  a  small, 
strange  fly.  All  these  things  seemed  to  deepen  his 
melancholy,  and  at  every  fresh  horror  he  would 
glance  nervously  at  the  strange  ring  he  wore. 

After  the  death  of  Robespierre  he  seemed  less 
uneasy  and  dejected.  The  ring  which  he  wore  was 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  77 

Shortly  after,  he  disappeared. 
The  general  wondered  at  his  words,  but  they  were 
afterward  understood  by  him. 


A  gorgeous  iceberg  floated  slowly  through  the  chill 
waves  of  the  Arctic  sea.  The  sun  shone  cold  and 
bright  upon  it  Vast,  glittering,  sublime,  it  towered 
upward  toward  the  clear,  blue  heavens.  Innumerable 
corruscations  of  light  glanced  from  its  ragged  surface — 
splendid  rainbows  hovered  upon  its  summit  —  beauti- 
ful fret-work  of  frozen  gems  and  chaste  drapery  of 
snewy  pearls  gleamed  here  and  there  upon  its  majes- 
tic form,  caught  up  in  fantastic  loops  by  shining 
pillars  and  fastened  upon  them  with  radiant  icicles. 

But  what  was  that  dark  shape  iipon  its  almost  invis- 
ible summit,  standing  among  the  rainbows  and  the 
glitter  of  the  ice?  It  was  a  human  being.  Yes! 
with  folded  arms  and  lofty  form,  and  flowing  hair 
streaming  backward  on  the  wind,  he  stood  upon  the 
pinnacle  of  the  iceberg  —  the  Wandering  Jew — with 
the  weight  of  nineteen  centuries  upon  his  heart. 

Oh!  the  majesty  of  some  of  the  scenes  of  earth! 
This  was  one.  Build  ye,  frail  sons  of  earth,  yo\ir 
temples  and  your  towers,  and  boast  of  your  beautiful 
handiwork  Lavish  labor,  and  gold,  and  time,  and 

talent  upon  them.      They  are  very  grand  —  they  are 
4 


73  FRESH    LKAVKS 

•wonderful  —  but  you  never  saw  that  tower  of  ice 
rearing  its  glittering  form  toward  the  deep,  blue  sky 
sparkling  like  jewels  incrusted  in  pure  pearl,  its  foun 
dation  the  restless  waves  of  the  mighty  deep,  its 
builder  God,  its  inhabitant  the  strange  old  man  of 
nineteen  hundred  years. 

The  green,  dark  waves  dash  up  against  the  glitter- 
ing mass  and  the  cold  wind  waves  the  white  locks  of 
the  aged  wanderer  wildly  back  upon  the  clear,  sharp  air. 

There  is  something  else,  resistless  as  the  snowy 
locks  of  the  old  man,  that  comes  upon  his  sight 
borne  forward  by  the  gale — his  hollo tv  and  mourn- 
ful eyes  rest  sadly  upon  it — what  is  it? — a  ship, 
a  gallant  ship,  like  a  strong  man  stricken  in  his 
pride  and  glory  by  the  hand  of  sickness,  helpless 
upon  the  bed  of  that  chilly  northern  sea  it  lays  —  its 
graceful  sails  rent  and  tattered,  its  beautiful  machin- 
ery broken  and  shattered  —  dismasted,  dismantled,  it 
floats  helplessly  onward  to  its  grave.  See!  a  pale 
and  famished  band  crowded  eagerly  upon  the  deck, 
their  straining  eyes  all  riveted  with  intense  earnest- 
ness  upon  that  calm,  majestic  tower  of  sparkling  ice. 

Do  they  wonder  at  its  sublime  magnificence?  do 
they  admire  its  glorious  beauty  ?  are  there  murmurs 
of  delight  on  those  compressed  and  ashy  lips? 

No!  no!  those  eager  faces  grow  white  with  terror; 
those  pale  lips  quiver  with  the  unspoken  fear;  those 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  79 

startled  eyes  distend  with  the  sight  of  their  certain 
doom  —  hunger,  thirst,  cold,  all  other  suffering  is 
forgotten  —  those  pallid  forms  sink  by  one  impulse 
on  their  knees  —  their  hands  are  raised  to  heaven; 
one  low,  wild,  wailing  accent  of  despair  rises  upon 
the  gale!  Oh!  iceberg!  grand  and  gorgeous  ice- 
berg !  you  hear  it  not  —  you  have  no  heart,  no  pity, 
no  relenting!  Smiling,  and  still,  and  proud  you 
stand,  as  if  no  souls  were  Avild  with  agony  to  see 
your  splendid  might! 

Onward,  onward,  surely,  swiftly  comes  the  help- 
less ship  to  its  own  destruction.  They  meet  —  the 
iceberg  and  vessel !  there  is  a  harsh,  grating  sound ; 
a  loud,  long,  terrible  shriek  —  a  rush  of  waters  — 
a  commotion  of  the  deep  —  a  solemn  silence  —  and 
the  iceberg  stands  calm  in  its  greatness  as  before, 
with  its  jeweled  forehead  lifted  to  the  sky !  but 
loving  smiles,  and  warm,  bright  tears,  and  choking 
utterance  will  never  more  welcome  the  fated  hearts 
that  sank  with  the  ill-starred  PRESIDENT! 


80  FRESH    LEAVES 


A  SEQUEL  TO  THE  TEMPTER. 


» i  T)  ESPITE  !    RESPITE  !    0,   God  of  Abraham  ! 

JX  respite  for  one  day,"  moaned  the  man  of  nine- 
teen hundred  years,  as  he  sank  to  the  earth  and 
bowed  his  withered  forehead  upon  the  dust  "0, 
God!  let  me  forget  myself  for  one  day  —  let  this 
burning  soul  within  me  cease  to  burn !  let  this  weary 
Heart  cease  to  throb  up  against  a  weight  of  nineteen 
centuries  —  let  me  sleep — let  me  sleep  and  forget! — 
respite,  0,  God !  respite ! " 

It  was  the  blackness  of  a  stormy  midnight  through 
which  the  tones  of  the  old  man  struggled  —  the  wild 
wind  lashed  the  waves  with  terrible  power,  and  drove 
them  almost  to  his  feet,  as  he  crouched  upon  the 
shore  of  the  seething  sea.  A  little  distance  away, 
faintly  glimmered  through  the  gloom  the  thousand 
lights  of  an  immense  city. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  81 

The  wanderer  was  alone  amid  the  terrors  of  the 
tempest  —  pressed  down  —  down  —  down  to  the  earth, 
with  a  feeling  like  the  consciousness  of  tons  of  iron 
upon  his  head  —  dying  —  dying  away! — yet  living 
an  endless  life  of  death!  He  could  not  perish!  the 
red  lightning  would  not  blast  him  —  the  mad  waves 
would  not  rush  upon  him,  and  sweep  him  to  de- 
struction ! 

Was  it  the  spirit  of  God,  or  the  spirit  of  the  Tempter 
that  was  in  the  fierce  wings  of  the  storm  as  they 
hurried  by  ?  —  for  the  pleading  voice  of  the  old  man 
smote  upon  the  ears  of  the  spirit,  and  it  checked  the 
rushing  of  the  storm  instantly,  and  it  folded  its  wild 
pinions  and  was  calm  —  the  waters  fainted  on  the 
shore  —  the  banners  of  the  clouds  hung  motionless 
above  —  the  thunder  shook,  and  murmured,  and  grew 
still. 

The  prostrate  man  trembled  in  the  silence,  but 
dared  not  raise  his  head.  Suddenly,  through  the 
darkness,  wavered  a  lurid  light  —  he  shook  with  fear 
and  agony,  for  it  was  the  ring  burning  upon  his  hand 
that  shone  thus  through  the  midnight. 

"  Respite !  respite !  "  pleaded  the  enduring  sufferer. 

"  Call  not  upon  the  name  of  the  Most  High,"  said 
the  mocking  voice  of  the  arch-fiend,  "  am  I  not  here, 
whom  thou  hast  served  so  faithfully  and  long  ?  And 
as  just  guerdon  for  thy  services,  thou  shalt  have  what 


82  FKESH    LEAVES 

thou  hast  desired.  Forgetfulness  of  the  past,  but  not 
death,  shall  be  thine  —  thou  shalt  still  live,  but  it  shall 
be  a  new  life  —  thou  shalt  be  a  babe  in  the  cradle  — 
a  boy  among  his  books  —  a  youth  with  his  dreams  — 
aye,  and  a  lover  with  his  hopes ;  —  and  it  shall  not  be 
known  to  thee  for  many  years  that  thou  hast  lived  in 
the  past,  and  are  to  live  long  in  the  future.  Yet, 
remember,  the  spell  is  still  upon  thee  —  thou  hast  a 
mighty  work  to  do  for  me,  and  thou  shalt  not  cease 
from  the  performing  till  all  be  done.  This  fair  and 
glorious  land  —  this  pride,  and  jewel,  and  crown  of 
Earth,  with  its  floating  banner  of  Liberty,  its  sunshine 
and  its  richness,  its  millions  of  proudly -beating  hearts ; 
this  land  with  its  knowledge,  and  freedom,  and  sun- 
shine, must  be  mine  —  must  be  mine  as  all  the  rest 
of  the  Earth  has  been  twice  before  —  and  thou  shalt 
be  the  minister  royal  of  my  negotiations.  It  shall  bo 
bought  with  a  price  —  it  shall  be  bought  with  GOLD  ! 
The  spell  and  the  power  shall  be  given  unto  thee  and 
unto  Gold.  Yet  for  a  time  this  knowledge  is  banished 
from  thee  —  respite  is  given  thee  for  many  years. 
Servant,  fulfill  thy  desire !  " 

Again  the  terror  of  the  storm  was  abroad,  and  the 
clouds  rushed  on.  The  old  man  fainted,  and  moaned, 
and  died  —  and  the  waters  swept  over  him,  and  bore 
him  away  with  them  to  his  grave  in  the  restless  bosom 
of  the  deep. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  83 

That  night  —  while  the  tempest  yet  shuddered 
without  —  in  a  costly  palace,  among  a  thousand  other 
costly  palaces,  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city  —  in  a 
splendid  chamber,  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and 
anxious  faces,  and  sighs,  and  anguish,  and  tears.  A 
life  was  given,  and  a  life  was  taken  away  —  a  warm, 
tiny,  new  creature  wrapped  up  in  soft,  dainty  coverings, 
was  placed  in  the  arms  of  the  father  —  his  proud  lips 
were  pressed  with  a  thrill  of  rapture  to  its  velvety 
cheek,  and  tears  of  happiness  sparkled  in  his  dark 
eyes  —  but  a  faint  voice  summoned  him  to  the  dra- 
peried  couch,  and  the  infant  was  resigned  to  its  nurse. 

"  My  husband !  "  murmured  that  feeble  voice,  "  ah ! 
my  husband,  I  am  leaving  you!  God  bless  you  and 
my  baby  —  our  baby,  Vernon." 

"Melanie — Melanie!  hush — hush — hush!  you  are 
not  dying  —  you  cannot  be  dying,  my  beloved !  " 
whispered  the  husband,  with  white  lips,  turning  sud- 
denly very  pale,  and  bending  over  her  with  his  deep 
eyes  darkening  with  intense  inquiry  and  solicitude. 

The  large,  spiritual  eyes  of  the  sufferer  turned  slowly 
to  meet  his  —  they  were  dim  already  with  death,  but 
holy,  and  heavenly,  and  full  of  tenderness  —  her  small, 
white  hand  that  he  had  clasped  in  his  feebly,  feebly 
returned  the  pressure  —  again  there  was  a  low  tone 
hovering  on  those  pale,  sweet  lips — the  last,  last  tone — 
and  the  stricken  man  bent  lower  down  to  hear  it: 


84  FRESH     LEAVES 

"Kiss  me,  Vernon, —  good  bye  —  come  to  me  in 
Heaven." 

Quivering  with  agony  his  lips  trembled  upon  those 
dying  ones,  and  were  sanctified  by  the  last  faint  sigh 
that  c;une  up  from  the  death- throb  of  that  young  heart 

The  awe-struck  attendants  lifted  away  the  powerless 
and  almost  insensible  man  from  the  bedside;  they 
lifted  liim  away,  and  laid  him  upon  a  sofa,  and  bathed 
his  pale  forehead,  and  wept  with  pity  at  the  dark  sor- 
row which  rendered  him  so  helpless.  And  there,  upon 
the  silken  couch  with  all  its  fair  surroundings,  lay  the 
beautiful,  dead  creature  of  his  idolatry  —  the  fair,  rare, 
passionate  poetess  —  the  beautiful  young  wife  —  the 
mother  of  an  hour,  whose  delicate,  and  fragile  life  was 
required  a  sacrifice  at  the  altar  of  the  little  babe  sleep- 
ing its  first  slumber  in  its  fairy-like,  rosewood  crib. 
Mournful — very  mournful! 

All  over  the  pillow  lay  the  long,  moist,  shining 
hair,  thrown  back  from  the  sweet,  pure  brow  of  the 
dead  —  dark  and  motionless,  the  lovely  lashes  rested 
upon  her  placid  cheeks,  vailing  for  ever  the  eyes  that 
were  a  wonder  and  a  glory  to  look  into.  A  faint 
smile  sat  upon  her  beautiful  lips,  like  an  angel  with 
folded  wings,  keeping  watch  by  the  gates  of  music  — 
all  fair,  all  exquisite,  all  still ;  but  the  spirit  was  not 
there  —  the  beautiful  young  poet-bird  had  perished 
in  the  midst  of  her  eloquence  and  love. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  85 

And  the  strong  man — the  partner  of  her  bosom—- 
the proud,  high,  worshiping  husband,  lay  moaning  and 
struggling  with  his  agony — his  pale  brow,  beaded  with 
the  sweat  of  suffering,  was  buried  in  the  cushions  of 
the  sofa — his  hands  were  writhing  together — his  soul 
was  black  with  sudden  sorrow. 

And  the  wee,  tiny,  breathing  thing  who  had  been 
purchased  with  so  fearful  a  price,  lay  slumbering  in  its 
unconscious  ignorance  in  those  dainty  coverings  and 
beautiful  robes,  embroidered  by  the  hand  that  lay  so 
still  and  white  upon  the  sweet,  cold  bosom  of  the 
mother.  And  the  attendants,  with  their  tearful  faces 
and  whispered  tones,  moved  noiselessly  about  between 
the  living  and  the  dead. 

And  still  the.  wild  storm  shuddered  and  shrieked 
without  the  palace  of  mourning  —  desolation  within 
and  abroad !  The  wind  fled  by  with  a  hollow  groan 
or  angry  shriek  ;  the  clouds  battled  together  with 
swords  of  lightning,  and  the  white  blood  poured  from 
their  wounded  bosoms  upon  the  terrified  earth;  the 
ocean  went  mad  with  terror,  and  leaped  upon  the 
shore  with  a  cry  of  despair,  and  dashed  its  forehead 
against  cruel  rocks  with  a  sullen  moan;  the  darkness 
shrank  back  from  the  flash  of  the  lurid  weapon  of  the 
sky ;  and  much  mighty  conflict  and  strong  battle  of 
elements,  and  many  strange  sounds  of  wailing  and 
woe  were  in  that  terrible  midnight 
4* 


86  FRESH    LEAVES 

Such  was  the  night  and  such  the  scenes,  when 
Vernon  Mytalena  first  opened  his  poet  eyes  to  the 
light  of  our  world. 


The  child  of  destiny  grew  up  in  that  beautiful  pal- 
ace, with  no  companion  but  his  father  and  one  old 
servant  There  were  no  friends,  no  visitors,  no  flat- 
terers in  the  train  of  the  proud  and  desolate  man  — 
who  walked  from  morn  till  midnight,  like  one  in  a 
dream,  through  the  gloomy  splendor  of  his  lofty  halls. 
From  the  hour  when  they  laid  his  fair,  bright,  glori- 
ous bride  in  her  dark,  lonely  chamber  of  enduring 
sleep  —  from  that  hour,  he  cast  aside  all  sympathy, 
all  hope,  all  the  blessings  of  life  —  and  locked  up  the 
rich  casket  of  his  mind's  jewels  from  the  world,  and 
gave  himself  up  to  the  desolation  of  his  heart  He 
had  no  kith  or  kin  in  all  the  earth,  save  the  little  babe 
who  bore  his  name  —  and  that  —  oh !  that  had  been 
purchased  with  so  costly  a  price,  that  he  could  not 
bear  to  look  upon  its  strange,  fair,  infant  face.  An  or- 
phan himself,  he  had  wedded  an  orphan  bride.  And 
a  peerless,  superb,  rarely-gifted  pah-  were  they !  She 
had  no  equal  in  the  world  for  divine  loveliness  of  face, 
and  passionate  poetry  of  heart,  and  exquisite  grace  of 
thought  and  motion — she  was  all  love,  and  loveliness, 
and  music,  and  inspiration  —  she  had  large,  eloquent 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  87 

eyes ;  sweeping,  shadowy  lashes ;  rich  cheeks ;  a  soft, 
sweet  mouth ;  a  spiritual  smile ;  and  oh !  such  beauti- 
ful, shining  hair,  parted  away  from  her  pure  forehead, 
and  waving,  floating,  glittering,  down  to  her  small,  fair 
feet.  He  was  a  man  that  it  was  a  blessing  to  look 
upon  —  a  splendid  spirit  in  a  fitting  frame.  He  had 
a  regal  brow,  caressed  for  ever  by  dark  wavelets  of 
glossy  hair;  his  eyes  were  always  beautiful,  but  they 
changed  with  the  changing  of  the  lights  and  shadows 
in  his  soul  —  now  proud,  now  dreamy,  now  mourn- 
ful, now  burning ;  he  had  a  fervid  and  eloquent  lip, 
restless  with  flitting  expressions  of  tenderness,  and 
sadness,  and  pride,  and  he  had  a  smile  that  was 
ineffably  winning  and  sweet 

It  was  while  he  was  a  sad  and  dreamy  wanderer  in 
the  City  of  the  Sea,  that  he  found  his  young  bride. 
Sometimes,  to  while  away  his  lonely  hours,  he  painted 
portraits  of  the  fair  faces  he  chanced  to  meet,  and,  as 
the  fame  of  these  was  sung  in  marble  halls,  one  day 
a  lady  came  to  him,  and  begged  him  in  low,  musical 
accents  to  picture  her  upon  canvas,  so  that  she  might 
not  be  entirely  forgotten  when  she  went  down  to  the 
grave.  She  had  no  friends,  she  said,  nor  was  any 
human  being  allied  to  her  by  the  ties  of  blood,  and, 
when  she  perished,  no  one  would  remember  her, 
and  all  thought  of  her  would  die  away,  save  that 
called  up  when  strangers  looked  upon  her  pictured 


88  FRESH    LEAVES 

semblance.  Her  voice  thrilled  to  his  inmost  spirit  with 
its  rare,  mournful  music ;  her  dress  was  exceedingly 
rich,  and  of  peculiar  style;  and,  when  she  put  aside 
her  vail  with  her  delicate,  slight  hand,  that  vision  of 
loveliness  stole  upon  his  eyes  which  was  to  be  thence- 
forth and  for  ever  part  of  his  existence. 

"  Would  he  do  this  kindness  for  her — would  the 
Signor  Vernon  Mytalena  ?  " 

.Would  he?  his  fingers  trembled  to  do  their  beau- 
tiful task,  before  the  embodiment  of  such  loveliness 
vanished  and  left  the  world  dark  to  him  —  for  he  half 
expected  that  she  would  melt  away  like  his  dreams 
pf  angels. 

The  young  girl  threw  aside  her  rich,  velvet  mantle 
and  flowing  vail,  and  sat  down  before  him  with  a  smile 
of  delight  She  took  the  gold  comb  from  her  hair, 
and  let  it  fall  in  rich  waves  about  her  slight,  beauti- 
ful form,  and,  folding  her  white  hands  on  her  knee, 
watched  his  movements  with  childish  curiosity.  But, 
as  he  grew  absorbed  in  the  inspiration  of  his  work, 
and  all  the  wild  rapture  and  love  of  his  thrilled  soul 
expressed  itself  in  his  fine,  eloquent  face,  the  look  of 
innocent  wonder  and  pleasure  in  her  large  eyes  un- 
consciously changed  to  the  same  expression  of  his 
earnest  and  fervent  gaze.  Wrapped  up  in  him,  as 
he  was  in  her,  she  never  moved  her  glance  from  his 
—  but  the  love,  the  surprise,  the  enthusiastic  joy 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  89 

of  his  countenance  was  perfectly  reflected  —  no,  not 
reflected,  was  absorbed  in  her  own  beautiful  features. 
Bent  a  little  forward  in  an  attitude  of  rapt  attention, 
and  entirely  forgetful  of  anything  but  the  new  and 
glorious  spirit  she  had  discovered,  the  light  of  her 
deep  eyes  stole  down  like  starlight  into  the  still 
waters  of  the  painter's  soul. 

And  thus  they  loved !  There  were  no  heart-aches, 
or  jealousies,  or  unwilling  friends,  or  coquetries,  or 
doubts!  Each  saw  that  the  other  was  their  impas- 
sioned ideal,  with  rapturous  surprise — they  knew  that 
they  loved  each  other,  and  the  poetry,  the  beauty, 
the  music  of  their  spirits  mingled  together  and  made 
wild  bliss.  The  picture  was  finished  in  a  few  days, 
and  the  beautiful  original  invited  the  artist  to  visit  at 
her  home.  She  was  a  Jewish  orphan.  She  lived 
entirely  alone,  with  the  exception  of  her  servants. 
Splendor  and  beauty  were  within  her  palace  halls. 
The  peculiar  grace  and  poetry  of  her  soul  seemed 
breathed  into  every  thing  within  her  influence.  Her 
home  was  a  Paradise.  One  might  wander  till  they 
were  bewildered,  through  its  magnificent  apartments, 
glowing  with  pictures  and  statues,  and  lighted  by 
a  soft,  warm  light,  stealing  in  through  domes  or 
silk-curtained,  balcony  windows;  all  the  atmosphere 
dreamy  with  perfume  and  the  low,  fitful  music  of 
wind-harps. 


90  FRESH    LEAVES 

Yet,  with  her  loving  heart  and  spiritual  dreams, 
she  had  dwelt  here  alone  for  years,  nor  heard  the 
whisper  of  tenderness,  nor  felt  the  touch  of  worship- 
ing lips  upon  her  young  forehead.  Her  name  was 
Melainie. 

How  wildly  then,  and  how  passionately,  her  heart 
sprang  out  at  the  call  of  another's  love.  How  her 
sweet  soul  wondered  at  its  perfect  happiness,  and 
gave  itself  up  to  this  blissful  reality  of  a  life-long, 
wordless  dream. 

And  Vernon,  with  his  loneliness,  his  knowledge  and 
scorn  of  the  world,  his  boundless  capability  of  loving, 
his  fine  poet  taste,  and  fervent  heart  —  oh!  was  he 
not  favored  of  heaven,  to  have  the  blessing  of  this 
rare,  young  creature  for  his  bride,  bestowed  upon 
him? 

They  were  wedded  soon.  Vernon  was  an  orphan, 
and  there  were  none  to  say  that  he  should  not  take 
to  his  bosom  a  Jewish  bride.  Thus  they  were  all  hi 
all  to  each  other  —  and  had,  as  it  were,  a  world  of 
their  own — a  rich  and  glorious  world  it  was,  full  of 
visions,  and  music,  and  love,  and  fancies.  Vernon's 
home  was  across  the  sea,  in  our  own  fair  land ;  it  was 
not  so  superbly  beautiful  a  place  as  was  his  bride's 
palace,  but  it  was  very  splendid,  ^till ;  and  they  left 
the  City  of  the  Sea  for  a  time,  to  spend  a  few  bright 
months  in  the  home  of  his  infancy. 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  91 

And  here,  their  bright,  brief,  mingled  history  came 
to  a  close.  Here  their  strange,  wild  happiness,  their 
trembling  hope  of  another  joy,  their  tremulous  fear, 
their  faint  presentiment  of  evil  was  all  brought  to 
a  sudden  termination  —  here  the  desolation  and  the 
darkness  came  upon  one  heart,  and  the  hand  of  death 
upon  the  other. 

The  babe  was  in  the  cradle,  and  the  mother  in 
the  grave.  In  utter  gloom  and  night  of  heart,  the 
mourner  turned  away  from  sympathy — turned  away 
from  the  face  of  his  child,  and  shut  himself  up  in  the 
chamber  where  she  died ;  or  knelt  before  that  picture 
himself  had  painted;  or  paced  to  and  fro  through 
gloomy  corridors,  wearying  the  night  out  with  the 
solemn  sound  of  his  slow,  heavy  steps. 

Months  and  months  passed  away,  and  the  infant 
began  tottering,  with  its  small  feet,  over  the  carpet, 
and  could  lisp  out  "  papa" — the  word  that  the  faithful 
old  servant  had  taught  him.  Still  the  father  heeded 
not  his  boy,  and  would  not  look  upon  him.  One  day, 
the  child  wandered  from  its  nursery,  and,  delighted 
with  its  liberty,  clapped  its  tiny  hands  and  went  glee- 
fully from  room  to  room,  filled  with  wonder  at  what 
it  saw,  till  it  reached  the  apartment  where  hung  the 
the  portrait  of  his  Jewish  mother.  With  a  cry  of 
delight,  he  stopped  as  his  eyes  caught  that  lovely 
form,  and  gazed  earnestly  upon  it  The  yearning  in 


92  FRESH    LEAVES 

his  infant  heart,  to  be  caressed  by  such  a  beautiful 
being,  to  be  treated  tenderly  by  a  mother's  love,  was, 
perhaps,  instinctive.  Creeping  close  to  it,  he  endeav- 
ored to  clasp  its  robe,  and,  when  it  did  not  stoop  down 
and  take  him  in  its  arms,  the  tears  gathered  in  his 
large,  soft  eyes,  his  little  lip  quivered,  and  he  raised 
his  hands  pleadingly  toward  those  of  the  picture. 

"  Papa  —  papa —  papa! "  he  said,  imploringly. 

"  Papa  "  was  the  word  that  expressed  everything 
lovely  to  him  —  such  was  the  lesson  his  nurse  had 
taught  him,  when  his  father  had  refused  to  be  in  his 
presence. 

At  this  moment,  Vernon  entered  the  room.  He 
had  not  seen  his  child  before  for  months.  It  was 
speaking  his  name.  He  looked  upon  its  face;  the 
features  were  his  own  —  but  those  soft,  tearful  eyes, 
BO  spiritual  and  deep  —  they  were  Melanie's  —  they 
were  Melanie's! 

Sometliing  stirred  through  the  depths  of  his  sorrow 
then,  and  thrilled  his  heart  with  a  strange  emotion. 
He  caught  the  babe  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  it  again 
and  again  to  his  bosom.  For  the  first  time  since  his 
great  desolation  came  upon  him,  he  wept 

"  I  am  your  papa,"  he  said  hi  a  low  voice,  trying 
to  smile. 

The  child  repeated  the  words  after  him,  and  looked 
jito  his  face  with  smiling  wonder,  and  put  up  his 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS. 

dimpled  hand,  and  played  with  the  raren  curls  that 
were  already  streaked  with  gray. 

"  And  that  " — he  said,  in  a  still  lower  tone,  point- 
ing to  the  radiant  picture,  "  that  is  your  mother,  my 
child." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  little  boy,  and  held  up  his  lips 
to  kiss  it  The  weeping  man  raised  him  up  to  the 
portrait,  and  then  hurried  with  him  from  the  room. 
Finding  the  servant,  he  inquired  of  her  the  name  of 
his  boy. 

"  Your  own  name,  sir,"  replied  the  wondering  old 
woman. 

From  that  time,  henceforward,  little  Vernon  was 
constantly  with  his  father.  Years  passed  away,  and 
each  day  was  like  unto  the  past  in  the  history  of  the 
two.  When  the  father  paced  his  chamber  with  un- 
even steps,  now  in  stern  stillness,  and  anon  melting 
into  words  of  mournfulness,  murmuring  passionate 
bursts  of  mournful  poetry,  while  hot,  large  tears  stole 
fast  and  silent  down  his  cheeks,  and  the  words  of  his 
tenderness  and  sorrow  trembled  on  his  quivering  lips; 
at  such  moments,  the  little  boy  sat  in  the  deep  win- 
dow, or  nestled  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa  and  repeated 
in  a  low  voice  to  himself,  the  murmured  and  broken 
sentences  of  his  parent,  his  large,  soft,  earnest  eyes 
fixed  with  a  wondering,  pitying  look  upon  that  pale, 
fine  face.  And  when  the  mourner  would  at  length 


94  FRBSH     LEAVES 

notice  the  earnest  expression  of  that  beautiful,  young 
countenance,  he  would  catch  the  tiny  form  to  his  bo- 
som, and  mighty  sobs  would  shake  and  convulse  it 
Then  they  would  go  together  into  the  sacred  apart- 
ment where  hung  the  glorious  semblance  of  the  lost 
one,  and  the  father  would  kneel  before  it,  and  his 
little  one  would  lean  up  against  him,  and  together 
they  would  weep  and  adore. 

Strange  dreams,  for  one  of  his  age,  crept  over  the 
child  of  destiny  —  strange,  wonderful,  vague,  poetic 
dreams.  Waking  or  sleeping,  his  thoughts  were  of 
his  beautiful,  bright  mamma,  who  smiled  upon  him 
but  never  stirred  —  and  who,  his  papa  told  him,  was 
in  heaven — and  of  that  papa,  dark,  and  sad,  and  wild. 
From  his  fair  parents,  and  from  the  statues,  pictures, 
vases,  and  rare  gems  of  art,  that  filled  his  palace- 
home,  his  ideas  of  the  beautiful  were  fashioned. 

As  he  grew  older,  and  capable  of  comprehending 
the  mystery  of  death,  and  the  pictured  semblance 
of  his  angel  mother,  and  to  understand  her  history  as 
it  fell  from  the  quivering  lips  of  the  mourning  man, 
the  parent  began  to  take  upon  himself  the  education 
of  the  child. 

Little  Vernon  was  by  nature  an  artist,  and  it  was 
a  relief  to  the  weary  man  to  instruct  his  boy  in  an 
art  to  which  he  himself  had  once  been  so  passionately 
devoted.  In  the  languages,  too,  and  belles-lettres,  ho 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  95 

was  versed,  and  a  great  portion  of  those  hours,  he 
had  once  spent  in  quiet  and  dark  despair,  were  now 
passed  happily  in  the  instruction  of  his  child. 

And  very  peculiarly  gifted  with  wonderful  loveli- 
ness and  talent  was  this  child;  his  nature  seemed 
utterly  averse  to  all  things  coarse  and  unrefined; 
his  deep,  shadowy  eyes  were  full  of  beautiful  visions, 
looking  out  beneath  their  dark  lashes  sweetly  and 
sadly  upon  the  world;  his  little  heart  beat  softly  to 
low,  spiritual  melodies;  his  young  soul  was  mourn- 
ful with  great,  earnest  thoughts;  his  slight  fingers 
wrought  with  the  pencil  images  of  strange  radiance 
and  power  for  one  so  young. 


Twelve  years  of  weariness,  since  the  marble  and 
flowers  were  placed  above  the  beautiful  form  of  Me- 
lanie,  and  he  who  mourned  for  her,  and  wore  out  life 
with  ceaseless  grief,  was  placed  by  her  side  in  the 
dark  chamber  of  the  dead,  with  silver  threads  in  his 
raven  hah-,  and  lines  of  sorrow  across  his  fine,  high 
forehead. 

The  orphan  dreamer  was  alone  in  that  great,  grand 
palace  —  alone,  save  the  old  servant,  and  the  picture 
of  his  mother.  Before  her  dear,  dear  semblance,  he 
poured  out  the  passionate  grief  of  his  young  heart. 
It  was  now  all  the  world  to  him ;  and,  if  he  wandered 


96  FRESH    LEAVES 

forth  by  day  through  long  corridors  and  splendid 
apartments,  it  was  only  to  return  to  that  one  little 
room  and  weep.  At  night,  that  beautiful  face  looked 
down  upon  him  through  the  mist  of  all  bis  dreams. 

There  was  something,  in  the  circumstances  of  his 
life,  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  development  of  his  wild, 
poetic  nature.  And  so  sensitive,  so  gentle,  so  refined, 
so  given  up  to  his  own  singular  thoughts,  so  gifted 
was  he,  that  luxury  and  splendor  seemed  necessary  to 
his  life  and  happiness.  The  beautiful  things  which 
surrounded  him  seemed  part  of  his  existence.  But 
the  hand  of  destiny  clasped  tight  his  delicate  fingers, 
and  drew  him  away — away — away  from  these. 

A  base  and  skillful  impostor,  coming,  in  pretence, 
from  the  sunny  south,  came  with  his  perjured  hire- 
lings, and  false  deeds,  and  swore  a  wrong  against  the 
innocent  man  in  his  grave,  and  took  away  his  home 
from  the  young  orphan,  and  forced  him,  penniless  and 
friendless,  inexperienced  and  helpless,  into  the  world 
of  which  he  knew  so  little. 

There  was  one  thing  the  poor  child  begged  of 
the  cruel  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  his  own  fair 
home — it  was  the  picture  of  his  mother!  He  kissed 
the  foul  hand  of  the  wretch,  and  sunk  down  upon 
his  knees,  and  pleaded  for  that  picture — it  had  be- 
come an  object  of  love,  of  reverence,  of  adoration,  to 
him — it  was  his  only  friend — it  was  something  pure 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  97 

and  holy  —  it  embodied  heaven  and  the  angels  to 
him  —  it  was  dearer  than  any  earthly  thing. 

The  cold-hearted  villain  refused  with  a  sneer  — 
what!  give  him  that! —  that  was  a  glorious  thing;  it 
would  sell  for  thousands  of  dollars !  —  and  the  boy 
went  out  alone  into  the  world,  ignorant  of  the  neces- 
sities of  poverty,  and  with  his  high  heart  full  only  of 
grief,  beauty,  and  wonder. 

By  bitter,  bitter  experience,  he  learned  its  ways! 

Bravely  he  struggled  on,  giving  love  and  tenderness 
unto  all,  leaning  naturally  upon  others  for  sympathy, 
and  full  of  eager  ambition  and  hope !  —  but  no  one 
answered  unto  the  yearning  of.  his  spirit  for  delicate 
affection  and  trust  Cold  and  sure,  the  frost  of  un- 
kind words  blighted  the  sweet  flowers  of  his  bosom; 
keen  wants  and  careless  chidings  hushed  the  flowing 
music  of  his  heart;  contempt  and  scorn  turned  into 
bitterness  the  sweetness  of  the  waters  of  his  soul. 

But  dreaming,  and  soft,  and  spiritual  as  was  his 
nature,  the  world  could  not  crush  it  But  it  changed 
it  The  love  was  turned  to  pride;  the  murmuring 
words  to  the  curve  of  disdain  upon  his  brightly  -beau- 
tiful lip ;  haughty  defiance  came  at  length  to  sit  upon 
his  princely  brow,  oftener  than  the  radiant  visions  that 
once  illuminated  its  whiteness  with  a  strange  and  ear- 
nest light.  The  yearning  of  his  soul  for  tenderness, 
struggled  with  a  lava  tide  of  burning  thoughts,  that 


98  FRESH     LEAVES 

rolled  and  dashed  against  the  aching  barrier  of  his 
restless  bosom.  His  powers  of  mind  grew  more  in- 
tense. Blended  with  the  darkness  and  pride  of  his 
soid  were  mingled  fancies  of  inexpressible  loveliness, 
and  broken  flashes  of  radiance,  and  tones  of  musical 
songs. 

So  he  struggled  up  toward  manhood  —  a  wonder 
of  genius  and  beauty,  yet  cursed  by  poverty  —  and 
the  fine  strings  of  his  heart  stretched  to  their  utmost 
tension  by  a  weight  of  bitterness  ;  and  his  bosom 
throbbing,  and  his  eye  flashing,  and  lips  compressed, 
save  when  the  thought  of  his  mother  melted  his 
beauty  into  an  ineffable  sweetness  and  tenderness. 


A  massive  silver  chandelier  shed  down  a  flood  of 
gorgeous  light  upon  a  fair  apartment  in  a  palace 
standing  opposite  to  that  which  was  once  the  home 
of  the  young  artist,  Vernon  Mytalena.  There  were 
many  rich  articles  of  luxury  lying  in  its  fair  glow — 
soft,  sinking  sofas,  pleasant  cushions,  and  footstools 
of  rare  velvet,  and  heavy  draperies  of  the  same,  falling 
over  tall  windows,  till  their  gold  fringe  swept  the 
bright,  tufted  carpet  There  was  a  lute  lying  on  the 
floor,  and  a  harp  in  a  corner;  and,  upon  the  walls, 
were  superb  mirrors,  and  a  few  exquisite  paintings. 
This  apartment  was  not  quite  unoccupied — upon  the 


WESTERN    WOODS.  99 


crimson  coverings  of  a  sofa,  a  young  girl  had  fallen 
asleep.  Her  rosy,  tapering-  fingers  pressed  her  white 
temple,  as  her  small  hand  nestled  amid  the  glorious 
wealth  of  hair  that  shadowed  her  sweet  face,  and, 
floating  round  her  lovely  arm,  like  sunlight  round  a 
Parian  pillar,  broke  away  over  her  shoulder  and  slept 
in  a  thousand  shining  rings  upon  her  form  and  over 
her  velvet  couch. 

One  who  has  ever  seen  in  a  vision,  an  angel  resting 
upon  a  crimson  cloud  after  sunset,  with  its  eyes  softly 
closed,  and  its  misty  robes  flowing  in  grace  about 
it,  and  a  glory  through  all  the  air,  will  realize  the 
beauty  of  May  Grove  as  she  slumbered  on  the  glow- 
ing sofa  in  her  snowy  dress,  with  the  rich  light  dream- 
ing around  her. 

There  was  a  low  rap  upon  the  half-opened  door, 
but  the  young  girl  did  not  awake,  and,  thinking  the 
room  was  deserted,  a  young  man  entered,  and,  with 
a  slow  step,  wandered  around  with  his  eyes  resting 
upon  the  paintings,  till  suddenly  startled  at  the  dis- 
covery of  the  beautiful  slumberer,  he  paused  before 
the  sofa,  and  sank  involuntarily  upon  his  knees. 

The  intruder  was  perhaps  twenty-three.  He  was 
eminently  handsome  ;  but  his  eloquent  mouth  had  a 
haughty  curve,  and  his  brow  was  as  cold  as  it  was 
beautiful.  There  was  a  girlish  tenderness  and  sweet- 
ness in  the  drooping  of  his  dark  lashes,  but  the  eyes 


100  FRESH     LEAVES 

beneath  them  were  proud  as  Lucifer's.  Yet,  as  those 
eyes  rested  upon  the  young  sleeper,  they  grew  soft, 
and  angel-like,  and  pure,  and  his  lip  forgot  its  bitter 
sneer — he  clasped  his  hands  together  in  surprise  and 
rapture,  and  bent  earnestly  forward,  gazing  upon  her 
with  hushed  breath. 

With  a  softly-heaving  bosom,  and  a  starrily  placid 
face,  the  young  girl  dreamed ;  but  the  dark  eyes  that 
lingered  so  intensely  upon  her,  had  power  to  open  her 
closed  lids,  as  sunlight  opens  twin  violets.  Softly  and 
slowly  she  raised  her  long  lashes,  till  her  large,  shad- 
owy eyes  met  those  bent  upon  her.  A  passionate 
smile  parted  her  dewy  lips,  and  holding  her  white 
arms  toward  him,  she  murmured  in  a  sweet,  mild 
voice, 

"  You  have  come  to  me  at  last,  glorious  embodi- 
ment of  the  love,  and  beauty,  and  poetry  of  my  soul ! 
You  are  here  in  my  presence,  my  own  one,  my  beau- 
tiful! Come  to  the  heart  that  has  so  long^  pined  for 
you — mine,  and  mine  only." 

The  young  man  looked  earnestly  into  those  beau- 
tiful eyes  —  his  soul  throbbed  with  emotion  as  hei 
words  named  him  her  own  —  but  he  saw  that  she 
yet  slept,  though  his  intense  gaze  had  opened,  as 
if  by  fascination,  those  lovely  lids:  and,  though  he 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  replied  as  passion- 
ately to  her  pleading,  he  only  gently  kissed  the  small 


FROM    WESTERN    -WOODS.  101 

extended  toward  him,  and  replied,  "  Lady,  for- 
give me,  I  deemed  the  apartment  deserted.  You  are 
dreaming,  lady,  I  will  retire." 

.As  she  comprehended  his  words,  the  dreamy  eyes 
of  May  Grove  brightened  full  with  a  confused  light, 
and  a  rich  blush  broke  over  her  soft,  fresh  cheek. 
Starting  up  with  a  beautiful  motion,  that  made  her 
thick  tresses  glisten  like  waves  of  gold,  she  smiled 
through  her  tears  and  embarrassment,  and  said, 

"  Dreaming  ?  surely,  a  wild,  wayward  dream.  It 
was  a  foolish,  maiden  fancy,  was  it  not  ?  " 

The  heart  of  the  stranger  burned  within  him  to 
tell  her  that  he  did  not  think  it  an  idle  fancy, 
but  the  earnest  and  irresistible  truth  —  that  he  was 
hers  entirely  and  only,  even  as  he  felt  that  she  was 
created  for  him — but  he  dared  not  say  so,  for  it  was 
not  the  way  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  say  such 
things,  before  he  had  had  an  introduction  to  his  spir- 
itual love  —  so  he  only  said  again, 

"  I  regret  disturbing  your  dream,  lady.  Mr.  Grove 
gave  me  permission  to  examine  his  paintings,  and,  if  I 
desired,  to  copy  from  them." 

"  I  am  not  disturbed  at  all,  I  assure  you,"  replied 
the  young  girl ;  but  her  glowing  cheeks,  and  drooping 
lashes  told  plainly  that  she  was  disturbed,  whether 
pleasantly  or  not.  "  Mr.  Grove  is  my  father  —  I  am 
May  Grove." 


102  FRESH     LEAVES 

< 

"  And  /  am  Tern  on  ftytalena,  and  an  artist" 
"Are  you?  "  questioned  the  child-like  creature,  with 
a  smile  of  delight,  raisina;  J)$r  soft  eyes  with  pleased 
inquiry  to  his  face.  "  You  are  Vernon  Mytalena  ?  I 
have  spent  hours  admiring  your  works,  and  thinking 
how  I  should  love  one  who  could  thus  create  such 
beautiful  images.  Your  picture  of  the  Madonna  hangs 
in  my  own  chamber,  where  I  can  always  look  at  it 
when  I  wake  at  night  —  it  looks  so  ineffably  sweet 
and  gentle  in  the  dim  light  of  the  night-lamp,  that  I 
ever  have  dreams  of  angels,  or  else  of — of  the  one 
who  conceived  it  Strange !  "  and  again  those  radiant 
eyes  rested  on  his  countenance.  "  I  always  dreamed 
of  you  just  as  you  are  —  only  —  only  not  quite  so 
proud.  But  that  I  think  makes  you  more  beautiful — 
and  I  am  sure  you  could  not  be  haughty  to  those  you 
loved." 

Proud !  there  was  not  much  pride  in  his  soul  then, 
nor  anything  but  wonder,  and  pain,  and  love  — won- 
der, at  her  surpassing  loveliness  and  perfect  purity — 
pain,  that  he  was  a  struggling  aspirant  after  fame  and 
wealth,  and  she  the  daughter  of  a  vain  millionaire. 
Love,  the  instantaneous  love  that  had  sprang  into  being 
from  every  fiber  of  his  wild,  dreaming,  beauty-fevered 
spirit,  when  the  sleeper  hi  her  dreams  pleaded  for  him 
to  come  to  her  heart,  and  held  out  her  soft  arms  to 
encircle  him.  He  could  have  told  her  then  that  fie 


PROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  103 

had  also  dreamed  of  her —  that  he  "knew  the  mystery 
of  her  blushes  and  surprise  —  he  could  have  spoken 
most  eloquently  of  spiritual  love  —  but  it  would  have 
been  wild  and  foolish,  and  he  repressed  the  words  on 
his  restless  lips,  and  walked  with  the  bright  young 
creature  from  painting  to  painting,  insensible,  for  the 
first  time,  to  their  beauties  —  but  listening,  gazing, 
absorbed  in  his  new  vision  of  love  "and  loveliness- 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  young  girl,  suddenly,  "  come  into 
this  apartment,  there  is  a  picture  here  —  none  know 
its  author  or  origin  —  the  most  wonderfully,  surpass- 
ingly-beautiful creation  the  human  mind  has  faculties 
to  conceive  of.  I  thought  there  was  something  about 
you  that  reminded  me  of  it  —  and  now  I  know  it  is 
your  eyes  —  you  have  her  eyes  —  the  very  same  — 
so  beautiful ! " 

She  led  the  way  into  another  magnificent  room,  and 
Vernon  followed  with  a  quick  thrill  at  his  heart  —  he 
thought  of  his  mother!  He  had  heard  that  the  one 
who  had  deprived  him  of  his  birthright,  had  disposed 
of  his  palace  and  articles  of  vertu,  and  returned  to  the 
south :  and,  burning  with  the  joyful  thought  that  he 
•night  again  look  upon  the  only  thing  he  prized  on 
earth,  he  had  hurried  to  his  former  home,  but  the 
picture  had  been  purchased,  he  could  not  ascertain 
by  whom. 

So  fearful  was  he  now  of  disappointment,  that  he 


104  FRJESH    LEAVES 

hardly  dared  look  up,   as  pausing  before  it,  May 
asked  — 

"  Is  it  not  wonderful !  " 

Slowly  he  raised  his  glance,  and  again  upon  his 
soul,  in  all  its  loveliness,  the  face  of  his  mother  smiled 
upon  him.  A  thousand  memories,  and  dreams,  and 
thoughts  of  by-gone  tears,  and  mourning,  and*bf  hours 
spent  in  silent  worship  of  that  radiant  form  —  all  the 
strange  visions,  the  love,  and  the  beauty,  and  the 
shadowy,  dreamy  hue  of  his  childhood  came  upon 
him ;  and  with  it  a  crushing  sense  of  his  struggle  with 
the  world,  his  rejected  sympathies,  his  hardening 
heart  His  face  grew  pale,  and  his  lip  quivered,  and 
kissing  it  wildly,  he  sank  upon  the  floor  and  sobbed, 
and  his  proud  form  shook  with  long-repressed,  long- 
growing  agony. 

"Is  it  his  love  —  is  it  his  love  ?"  murmured  May 
Grove  to  herself,  and  her  own  cheek  whitened  to  the 
hue  of  a  lily. 

Why  should  she  tremble  if  it  was  his  love  ? 

At  length  he  raised  his  proud  head  from  his  hands, 
and  turning  his  dark  eyes,  with  a  look  of  unutterable 
sadness,  to  the  face  of  the  pale  young  girl,  he  said  in 
a  low  voice  — 

"My  mother  —  my  own  beautiful  mother." 

May  Grove  had  not  yet  learned  to  repress  sympa- 
thy —  her  soft  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and,  wishing  to 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         105 

soothe  his  sorrow,  she  laid  her  fair  hand  upon  his 
raven  curls,  and  stooping,  kissed  his  forehead  with  her 
tremulous  lips. 

All  the  fountains  of  tenderness  in  the  strong  man's 
bosom  were  sweetly  stirred  —  how  could  he  ever  have 
bitterly  cursed  the  world,  when  one  so  beautiful,  so  in- 
nocent, ftnd  loving,  and  pure  was  dwelling  in  its  midst  ? 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  dear  one !  "  he  said  earnestly, 
and  rising,  he  took  her  quivering  hand  and  led  her  to 
a  seat.  Sitting  at  her  feet,  for  the  first  time,  he  poured 
forth  in  a  low,  sad,  touching  voice  the  history  of  his 
life  —  his  strange,  overshadowed,  but  happy  infancy ; 
the  gldom  and  mourning  of  his  father  for  the  loss  of 
the  beautiful  creature  whose  portrait  hung  there  before 
them;  and  the  death  of  that  father;  the  base  scheme 
which  had  robbed  him  of  all  that  was  dear,  and  sent 
him  ignorant  and  helpless  to  struggle  with  the  world; 
of  that  long,  long,  weary  struggle,  when  daily  his 
loving  sympathies,  his  gorgeous  fancies,  his  eloquent 
ambitions  were  crushed  in  the  battle  of  life.  And 
then  the  words  he  could  no  longer  repress,  gushed 
forth  in  an  impassioned  torrent  of  feeling  —  how  the 
pride  and  bitterness  his  soul  had  learned,  was  melted 
beforp  her  presence ;  and  hew  he  felt  that  she  only, 
could  waken  his  heart  once  more  to  wild  happiness, 
or  freeze  every  impulse  for  ever,  leaving  him  a  deso- 
late, cold,  and  passionless  form  to  stand  in  the  halls  of 


106  FRESH    LEAVES 

existence,  as  a  proud  marble  statue  stands  in  the  halls 
of  the  happy. 

Bright  tears  stood  on  the  drooping  lashes  of  the 
young  girl ;  her  heart  was  startled,  and  thrilled,  and 
stirred.  There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence  after 
the  last  word  trembled  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker  — 
then  the  white  arms,  which  had  pleaded  for  »him  in 
her  dreams,  were  folded  softly  around  his  neck,  and 
sobbing,  and  murmuring  broken  words  of  joy,  May 
Grove  nestled  her  sweet  face  in  the  bosom  of  Vernon 
Mytalena. 


The  burning  stars  of  heaven  came  out  into  the 
night,  and  looked  down  into  the  gardens  of  Paul 
Grove  —  smiling  dreamily  upon  their  dewy  flowers, 
and  rustling  foliage,  and  white  statues,  and  silver- 
singing  fountains.  The  drooping  clusters  of  blossoming 
vines  hung  their  graceful  heads  tenderly  to  the  whis- 
per of  caressing  leaves;  and  dim,  cool  shadows  deep- 
ened the  placid  beauty  of  the  starry  air  —  the  gardens 
were  lovely  as  a  faint  vision  —  all  perfume,  flowers, 
silver  gleams,  cool  spray,  shifting  shades,  and  murmur- 
ing melodies. 

May  Grove  stood  by  a  fountain.  Her  thick  tresses 
floated  on  the  sighing  wind,  and  her  dainty  hand 
played  with  the  falling  water. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  107 

She  was  waiting  for  her  lover. 

Presently  a  step  coming  down  a  myrtle  avenue 
broke  on  her  listening  ear;  and  tossing  back  her  wild 
hair,  she  bent  half  forward  to  listen,  while  a  rich  flxish 
and  a  soft  smile  mantled  her  face.  As  the  step  drew 
nearer,  she  turned  to  meet  the  approaching  form,  but 
shrank  back  again  and  leaned  against  the  marble 
fountain-nymph,  murmuring  — 

"My  father!" 

"May  —  my  daughter,"  said  a  cold,  stern  voice, 
"  for  what  are  you  here  in  the  damp  night- air  alone, 
and  unattended.  Not  to  meet  some  cunning  aspirant 
to  your  father's  gold  ?  " 

A  flush  shot  into  the  young  girl's  cheek,  and  she 
raised  her  eyes,  with  a  proud  glance  to  his  face. 

"  Has  your  child  no  tenderness,  no  charm,  no  virtue 
to  please  the  hearts  of  others,  that  you  for  ever  think 
they  seek  her  gold,  not  her  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  bit- 
terness unusual  to  her  soft  lips. 

"  Oh !  yes,  all  these,  my  child  —  your  mother  had ! 
but  I  married  her  for  her  dower,  for  all  that!  and 
men  love  riches  now,  quite  as  much  as  in  my  youth. 
But  come — my  choice  for  you  is  made,  and  the  happy 
lover  awaits  you  in  the  drawing-room.  A  worthy 
match — young,  handsome,  and  rich." 

May  turned  pale,  and  asked  in  a  low  voice  — 

"  Who  is  he,  my  father?  " 


108  FRESH    LEAVES 

"  Young  Terence  Endicott." 

"  Him,  father !  I  scorn  him  as  I  would  a  viper." 

"  He  is  very  handsome,  and  so  rich  you  will  forget 
your  idle  prejudice,  and  marry  him  with  joy." 

"  Never  —  never  —  never ! " 

"  No  girlish  eloquence  if  you  please,  my  dear ;  he 
is  my  choice,  and  you  must  obey  the  dictate.  For 
tunes  depend  not  on  the  caprice  of  girls." 

'"Oh,  father,  we  are  rich  enough  already;  and  have 
gold  to  spare  to  the  gifted  and  suffering." 

"Gifted  and  suffering!  who  learned  you  this? — 
not  I.  Come,  Terence  will  not  bear  neglect.  Be 
gay,  be  bright,  and  bend  your  queenly  pride  to  his, 
for  he  is  haughty  as  Satan  himself." 

"  And  almost  as  evil.  I  pray  you  spare  me,  father, 
/  love  another/1' 

"  Another !  do  you  ?  well,  unlove  him,  then.  How 
rich  is  he  ?  " 

"  PennilesSj  but  worthy  all  our  gold." 

"  Humph !  worse  than  nonsense !  I  thought  I  had 
kept  you  so  close  from  all  such  winning  pretenders 
that  you,  at  least,  would  stand  as  a  model  daughter, 
whose  happiness  and  glory  was  secured  by  a  father's 
care.  Only  to-day  I  bade  my  sen-ants  kick  a  pre- 
sumptuous painter  from  my  presence,  who  came  to 
me,  as  haughty  as  a  lord,  to  claim  your  hand.  Poor 
painter !  how  impudent !  how  absurd !  " 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         109 

"  It  is  him  I  love,  my  father ! " 

"May!  are  you  mad?  Never  let  me  hear  you 
say  that  again.  Come  instantly.  Remember,  I  am 
your  father ! " 

He  seized  the  slight  hand  of  the  trembling  girl, 
and  dragged  her  away  from  the  fountain  toward  the 
illuminated  mansion.  With  a  smothered  curse,  Ver- 
non  Mytalena  emerged  from  the  shade  of  the  myrtle- 
vines,  and  stood  out  in  the  dim  light,  with  flashing 
eyes,  and  compressed  lips,  and  dilated  form.  "Aye! 
withered  up  and  base  old  miser!  so  he  did  tell  his 
grinning  slaves  to  insult  me  in  his  halls  —  and,  as  I 
live,  he  shall  repent  the  foul  indignity.  Oh,  May! 
May !  pride !  poverty !  and  agony !  Would  that  I  had 
never  loved!  then  there  would  have  been  nothing 
now  to  restrain  the  bitterness  and  the  anger  of  my 
soul  against  the  world  —  no  soft  eyes  winning  me 
away  from  revenge  —  no  sweet  voice  hushing  the 
tumult  of  my  passions  —  none  of  this  struggling  with 
tenderness  and  sternness  —  none  of  this  anguish  I 
scorn  to  feel.  She  is  sitting,  with  a  breaking  heart,  in 
the  midst  of  a  splendid  mockery  —  and  I !  —  I  will  go 
again  to  my  solitary  room  and  wear  out  the  midnight 
with  my  restless  heart  beating  loudly  upon  its  silence. 
Sweet  mother !  starry,  angel  mother,  be  with  me." 

With  an  uneven  step  he  hurried  to  his  small  room. 

As  he  entered  it  and  cast  open  the  shutters  to  the 
5* 


110  FRESH    LEAVES 

night  air,  a  flood  of  faint  starlight  gleamed  sweetly 
over  the  beautiful  pictures  which  alone  relieved  the 
nakedness  of  the  poor  apartment,  save  a  few  books, 
and  a  writing  table  by  the  window.  Resting  his  elbows 
on  this  table,  he  sat  long  hours  of  that  fair  night  with 
his  burning  face  buried  in  his  hands  —  the  silence 
broken  only  by  his  heavy  breathing  and  the  quick 
throbbing  of  his  excited  breast 

At  length  he  was  startled  by  a  light  touch  upon 
his  bowed  head,  and  looking  up,  May  Grove  stood 
before  him  in  her  white  dress,  and  jeweled  hair,  and 
pale  face.  She  had  glided  in  at  the  low  window, 
and,  as  he  started  up,  she  said  in  a  hurried  voice, 
with  clasped  hands, 

"  I  am  come  to  tell  you  why  I  did  not  meet  you 
to-night  at  the  fountain.  Do  not  think  I  meant  to 
slight  you  —  I  wished  to  be  there  so  much  —  but  my 
father—  " 

"  May !  "  exclaimed  the  painter  in  a  voice  so  start- 
ling that  she  stopped  at  once,  "  even  you  must  never 
mention  your  father's  name  in  my  presence.  I  can 
bear  almost  anything  else  for  your  sake  —  but  not 
that! — not  to  be  spurned  from  the  presence  of  the 
parent  of  my  idol,  by  the  feet  of  grinning  lackeys. 
By  my  mother's  beauty,  and  my  father's  passionate 
blood  —  no !  I  knew  why  you  did  not  meet  me  —  I 
heard  what  passed  between  you  and  him — I  saw  him 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  Ill 

drag  you  away ! — and  then  I  came  home,  and  have  sat 
here  ever  since,  with  a  fire  burning  in  my  bosom  of 
whose  wild  torture  I  never  before  conceived.  Every- 
thing has  perished  in  that  fire  of  agony  —  my  dreams 
of  beauty,  my  hopes  of  fame,  my  devotion  to  my  sweet 
art,  my  love  of  poetry  and  eloquence  —  all,  all  have 
melted  down  into  one  hard,  stern  mass  within  my 
bosom  —  one  lump  of  rich,  bright  gold  lighted  up 
and  sparkling  in  the  glow  of  a  burning  revenge  ! 
This  night,  a  vision  has  come  unto  me — I  have  felt 
almost  as  if  I  were  no  longer  a  mortal  man,  but  an 
eternal  spirit,  unto  whose  power  was  given  the  jew- 
eled key  that  unlocked  the  rarest  treasures  of  the 
earth  !  Poverty,  away  !  Scorn,  insult,  contumely, 
how  will  ye  smile  to  kiss  my  feet!  May!  to-mor- 
row, I  go  to  the  land  that  my  eyes  have  seen  this 
night  as  in  a  vision! — and  I  return  not  to  thee,  nor 
to  love,  till  wealth,  that  will  purchase  the  world,  is 
mine  —  till  gold,  that  will  make  his  heap  show  like 
a  pebble  at  the  mountain's  base,  comes  at  my  bid- 
ding —  till  men  look  upon  my  glory  with  awe  —  till 
power,  and  kingdoms,  and  grandeur  are  mine !  I  see 
it,  feel  it,  know  it  all,  plain  as  the  day,  and  my  soul 
is  changed  within  me." 

Fainter  and  fainter  grew  the  young  girl  at  his 
quick,  round-dropping,  energetic  words,  till,  when  he 
ceased,  she  clasped  his  feverish  hands  in  her  own 


112  FRESH    LEAVES 

cold,  trembling  ones,  and,  bowing  her  forehead  upon 
his  bosom,  she  moaned  in  the  sudden  desolation  of 
her  wild  love, 

"  You  will  leave  me  then — leave  me  alone  to  strug- 
gle—  and  at  length  be  offered  up  on  the  altar  of  that 
passion  for  gold !  You  —  you  —  you  are  mad,  too, 
with  that  baneful  poison  !  Love,  and  beauty,  and 
purity,  and  all  God's  beautiful  gifts  you  have  given 
up  !  Yet  have  you  mocked  my  trust  by  breathing 
of  eternal  devotion  —  oh !  I  am  so  desolate !  " 

"  Gold  will  purchase  all  these  things,  May — it  will 
eat  out  the  stain  upon  my  honor — it  will  make  men 
bow  to  the  proud  spirit  they  now  spurn." 

"  Will  it  buy  such  love  as  is  all  in  all  to  such  as 
you  and  me  ?  You  are  not  yourself  now,  Vernon —  * 
I  can  not  believe  you  are  in  your  calm,  firm,  rea- 
sonable mind — you  are  excited  by  what  has  passed 
to-day.  You  will  think  more  soberly  to-morrow — say 
that  you  will,  my  own  Vernon !  " 

"  I  shall  be  gone  to-morrow,  May." 

"  And  you  can  go,  and  forsake  me  in  my  time  of 
trial  —  leave  me  helpless  in  the  hands  of  the  cruel  — 
forget  the  passionate  love  you  have  sworn  to  me  —  all 
this  for  what  I  would  so  readily  sacrifice  for  you.  This 
night  I  have  stolen  from  splendid  halls  to  seek  you 
in  ybur  lowly  room,  and  tell  you  that  I  was  ready 
to  give  up  all  and  flee  with  you  —  home,  friends, 


FKOM    WESTERN     WOODS.  113 

magnificence,  my  father,  my  jewels,  my  sweet  haunts 
of  loveliness,  where  I  have  dreamed  the  young  years 
of  my  life  away,  all,  all — and  welcome  anything — sor- 
row and  trial  —  so  it  was  shared  with  you.  And  my 
heart  was  glad  within  me  when  I  thought  how  we 
would  go  far  away  from  those  who  have  been  cruel 
to  us,  and,  with  our  own  gifts,  win  the  fame  and  the 
fortune  that  would  make  them  proud  to  welcome  us 
back.  Your  beautiful  art  —  my  poetry  and  music  — 
and  our  blessed  love !  we  could  have  been  so  happy ! 
Our  souls  could  have  grown  so  grand,  and  brave,  and 
strong — Earth  would  have  been  more  beautiful  from 
the  proud  triumph,  and  the  beauty,  and  the  love  of 
our  tried  souls.  This  would  have  been  true  greatness. 
0,  Vernon !  Vernon !  turn  back  now  from  your  wild 
thoughts,  and  go  with  me." 

The  young  man  clasped  her  to  his  bosom  so  tightly 
that  she  hardly  breathed  —  his  cheek  was  blanched, 
and  his  forehead  sweated  with  pain  —  for,  in  the  wild 
whirlwind  of  passion  that  had  swept  over  his  soul,  the 
star  of  love  still  burned  like  a  glory  in  the  night  of 
his  stormy  spirit. 

"  No  —  no  —  no !  it  cannot  be  now —  it  is  too  late ! 
the  inspiration  of  my  art  has  fled  from  me  —  the  am- 
bition for  fame  has  gone  with  it — there  is  nothing  left 
but  my  strong  will  to  gain  riches,  and  my  love  for 
thee.  No  —  no  —  I  have  seen  strange  things  in  my 


114  FRESH    LEAVES 

tortures  this  night  —  things  have  been  revealed  to  me 
like  prophecies  —  J  see  a  future  that  will  rival  the 
glory  of  Solomon,  the  gorgeousness  of.  the  princes  of 
old  —  I  see  my  destiny,  and  shall  I  turn  away  from 
it  ?  I  cannot !  But  only  be  true  to  me,  my  own 
one,  resist  your  father's  will  —  be  true  some  months 
or  years,  and  oh !  the  reward  shall  come.  I  swear  to 
you  that  for  every  ingot  of  gold  that  I  lay  up,  shall  be 
laid  up  a  burning  thought  of  love  and  thee !  Think 
you,  I  could  see  your  delicate  fingers  toiling  for 
bread — your  beautiful  form  wasting  away  from  want  ? 
My  May !  it  was  the  agony  of  these  thoughts  that  so 
stirred  up  my  strong  soul,  that  in  obedience  to  my 
will,  as  it  were,  these  visions  of  my  destiny  came  up 
before  me.  Do  not  think  I  am  mad,  May.  I  am 
just  as  calm  now  as  I  shah1  be  till  my  purposes  are 
wrought  out  Only  promise  to  be  true,  to  forget  not 
till  you  hear  from  me  — will  you  promise  ?  " 

"  Then  you  will  leave  me !  "  gasped  the  young  girl. 

"  It  is  beginning  to  grow  light — the  night  will  soon 
vanish,  and  the  day  that  parts  us  be  here  —  this  is 
our  last  hour !  Speak  to  me,  May !  say  one  word  of 
sweetness  to  linger  in  my  ear  till  I  come  to  claim 
you  — will  you  not  say  one  word  ?  " 

But  the  young  girl  had  fainted  in  his  arms.  He 
passed  through  the  window  with  his  pale  burden,  and 
stood  a  moment  in  the  gray  twilight  gazing  upon  her 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  115 

beautiful  forehead,  and  closed  eyes,  and  disheveled 
hair — tearlessly  gazing  upon  her  pallid  and  exquisite 
loveliness  —  then,  sealing  their  mute  parting  with  one 
kiss  of  agony  upon  her  stirless  lips,  he  hurried  through 
the  deserted  streets  till  he  reached  her  father's  gar- 
dens, and,  laying  her  light  form  upon  the  dewy  turf, 
by  the  fountain,  he  sprinkled  the  cool  spray  upon  her 
sweet,  white  face. 

He  waited  till  the  breath  of  life  once  more  quivered 
faintly  over  her  lips,  and,  ere  those  sad  eyes  unclosed, 
or  those  lips  murmured  his  name,  he  was  gone! 


"  They  kneel  upon  the  sloping  sand. 

As  bends  the  human  knee, 
A  beautiful  and  tireless  band, 
The  priesthood  of  the  sea !  " 

With  a  murmur  on  their  lips,  and  a  dimple  on  their 
faces,  and  a  glow  upon  their  bosoms,  the  waves  stole 
up  and  knelt  upon  the  shore  of  the  Pacific. 

Upon  a  rock  that  jutted  out  into  the  sea,  a  solitary 
man  sat  gazing  upon  the  purple  glory  of  the  water 
where  the  sun  had  just  dropped  into  its  bosom.  The 
soft  wind  fluttered  the  raven  hair  floating  about  his 
fine  forehead;  the  spray  bathed  his  bare  feet,  and 
the  gorgeously-tinted  sky  smiled  into  the  dreamy 
eyes  that  were  fixed,  with  a  forgetful  gaze,  upon  it. 


116  FRESH    LEAVES 

Guided  by  a  hand  that  he  felt  but  did  not  see, 
through  prairie  and  wilderness,  and  over  mountains 
and  through  strange  scenes  of  danger,  and  beauty, 
and  fear,  the  man  of  destiny  had  wandered  alone 
this  mighty  distance — had  been  rescued  from  every 
peril  —  hurried  from  every  danger.  Where  he  slept 
at  night,  there  were  always  springs  of  cool  water  ou 
the  prairie  —  always  fruit  in  the  wilderness — the  In- 
dian saw  him  not,  and  wild  beasts  avoided  him  — 
slowly,  safely,  and  surely  his  feet  had  traveled  to 
the  land  he  had  seen  in  a  vision  !  It  was  Vernon 
Mytalena  that  sat  upon  the  rock  at  sunset,  musing 
upon  days  of  past  happiness  —  alone,  alone  in  the 
loneliness  that  surrounded  him. 

For  weeks  he  had  been  here,  spending  his  days  in 
the  mountains,  and  descending  at  evening  to  wander 
by  the  seaside.  There  were  berries,  and  fruits,  and 
fishes  for  food,  but  he  had  not  yet  beheld  a  human 
face  or  heard  a  voice.  The  powerful  knowledge  that 
his  destiny  would  not  be  interfered  with  by  death, 
kept  him  from  fear — but  oh!  the  appalling  loneliness 
that  had  grown  so  painful  to  him. 

The  everlasting  dirge  that  the  ocean  murmured  al- 
most maddened  him,  yet  was  strangely  fascinating, 
and  he  could  not  break  away  from  its  spell  And 
now,  as  he  sat  there,  lost  in  thought,  with  its  sad, 
sweet  music  breaking  hi  ceaseless  cadence  upon  his 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  117 

ear,  a  dream,  as  it  were,  of  by-gone  ages,  crept  over 
him,  and,  blended  with  that  melody,  he  saw  a  thou- 
sand scenes  go  slowly  by  him,  in  which  it  seemed  that 
he,  himself,  had  been  an  actor.  Their  voices  sounded 
to  him  like  the  echo  of  a  thousand  years  gone  by.  He 
heard  the  murmur  of  the  waters  of  Kedron,  and  saw 
the  starry  lake  of  Galilee ;  then,  sensations  like  those 
of  drowning  crept  over  him;  and  again  he  seemed  to 
be  floating  in  a  frail  bark  far  from  land.  The  twilight 
darkened  and  the  moon  rose  up,  and  still  he  was  in 
this  trance,  and,  when  he  at  length  started  from  it, 
it  seemed  as  if  he  had  lived  long  years  since  the  sun 
set;  and  there  was  a  weight  upon  his  heart  that  op- 
pressed him.  Yet  wherefore  ?  —  he  knew  not ;  and, 
if  a  half-thought  flashed  over  him,  he  lost  it  before  he 
knew  its  shape,  and  was  more  sadly  bewildered  than 
before. 

Oh !  then,  how  he  pined  for  the  soft  hand  of  pas- 
sionate, young  May  amid  his  curls,  and  her  sweet 
voice  in  his  ear!  Not  even  all  the  glittering  gold 
that  had  burst  upon  his  sight  in  the  last  few  weeks, 
would  have  been  worth  as  much  to  him  as  one  low 
word  from  her,  one  touch  of  her  bright  lips.  But 
even  this  feeling,  in  a  measure,  passed  away,  at  the 
wild  throb  to  avenge  the  stain  that  burned  upon  it — 
and,  with  quick  steps,  he  descended  from  the  rocks 
and  paced  the  shore  till  midnight  *  *  * 


118  FRESH     LEAVES 

Till  daylight,  aye,  till  he  had  worn  life  out  with 
restless  motion,  would  Vernon  Mytalena  have  trodden 
those  sands,  had  he  known  what  was  passing  many 
thousand  miles  away  that  night 

The  whole  magnificent  mansion  of  Paul  Grove  wis 
gorgeously  lighted  and  garlanded  with  flowers,  ar,d 
eloquent  with  music,  and  laughter,  and  gay  words. 
Silken  robes  floated,  and  bright  jewels  flashed — fine 
forms  bent  courteously,  repartee  sparkled.  The  v/orld 
was  so  proud  and  happy  to  shine  at  the  wedding  of 
May  Grove  and  Terence  Endicott 

At  the  end  of  a  suite  of  splendid  parlors,  that  had 
been  thrown  into  one,  a  snowy  silk  curtain  drooped 
in  rich  folds  before  a  small  temple  where  the  ritea 
of  marriage  were  to  be  solemnized.  As  a  wreath  of 
wliite  roses  drew  up  this  curtain  in  graceful  loops  to 
the  ceiling,  revealing  the  occupants  therein,  the  whis 
pering  and  laughter  died  away,  and,  with  brevlhlesa 
curiosity,  the  assembly  gazed. 

The  bridegroom  was  handsome,  and  a  smile  of  tri- 
umph lighted  up  his  face;  but  the  smile  was  loo  sin- 
ister and  haughty,  where  it  played  around  his  lips,  to 
inspire  love  and  trust  in  the  young  creature  who  stood 
by  his  side — for  the  clear  eyes  of  the  spirit  were  hers, 
end  she  shuddered  when  he  took  her  hand.  There 
was  a  rich  crimson  on  the  cheeks  of  the  bride,  and  a 
beautiful,  unnatural  brilliancy  in  her  large  eyes,  that 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  119 

came  and  went  several  times  during  the  ceremony. 
But  when  he  turned,  at  the  conclusion,  to  kiss  her 
forehead,  the  color  and  light  faded  away  entirely,  and 
she  sank  motionless  into  the  arms  of  her  husband. 

"  What  susceptibility  !  what  sensitiveness  !  what 
soul ! "  said  the  "flattering  crowd ;  but  there  was  a 
pang,  sharper  than  a  dagger,  at  the  heart  of  the 
father,  as  he  took  his  child  into  his  arms  and  bathed 
her  face  with  the  perfumed  water  that  was  held  for 
him.  But  his  heart  was  too  calloused  to  feel  re- 
proach any  longer  than  till  those  mournful  eyes  un- 
closed again  and  looked  into  his  face. 

He  whispered  a  few  words  in  her  ear,  but  she 
turned  away  with  a  low,  half-suppressed  moan. 

Presently  she  grew  stronger,  and,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  parent,  received  the  congratulations  of 
the  crowd,  with  a  faint  smile  that  deepened  into  one 
of  bitterness,  as  the  mocking  forms  were  one  by  one 
gone  through  with.  But  they  did  not  read  the  nature 
of  the  smile;  and  the  eyes,  that  might  have  spoken 
too  much,  were  shaded  by  the  low  drooping  of  long 
lashes. 

When  the  supper  hour  came,  and  the  refreshment 
rooms  were  thrown  open,  the  bride  had  disappeared 
suddenly. 

"  Detain  the  bridegroom  from  coming,  while  we 
search  for  her,"  cried  many  voices,  and,  while  gay 


120  FRESH    LEAVES 

forms  gathered  around  Terence  Endicott,  many  has- 
tened to  the  gardens  in  search  of  the  absent  brida 

They  found  her  in  a  few  moments,  lying  upon  the 
earth,  in  a  dim,  sweet  place  by  a  fountain  side;  and, 
silent  and  pale  with  horror,  they  brought  her  in  and 
laid  her  upon  a  sofa,  before  the  father  and  husband. 
The  delicate  lace,  and  rich  silk,  and  pearls,  and  flow- 
ers of  her  bridal-dress  were  dripping  with  blood,  and 
a  small,  gold  penknife  fell  from  the  folds  that  lay 
upon  her  stained  bosom,  as  they  laid  her  down.  The 
father,  who  had  driven  her  to  tliis  desperate  deed, 
fell  down  upon  his  knees  beside  her,  his  form  shak- 
ing with  fear  and  the  agony  of  remorse.  The  lover 
was  pale  as  death,  but  he  found  time,  even  in  that 
dreadful  moment,  to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the 
parent, 

"  Let  them  think  that  some  rival  has  done  this." 

The  old  man,  in  this  sudden  shock,  caught  the  idea 
eagerly. 

"  Who  has  done  this  ?  "  he  cried  aloud,  in  a  shrill, 
painful  tone.  "  Who  has  murdered  my  darling  on  her 
wedding-night,  out  of  foul  envy  ?  Who  is  there  that 
would  not  see  my  beautiful  child  happy,  but  must 
murder  her,  because  of  hate  ?  "  and  he  filled  the  air 
with  wailings  and  cries  like  a  child.  But,  aye,  old 
man,  you  would  have  given  all  your  gold  then  to 
have  seen  your  daughter  smile  or  speak ! 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  121 

"Who  has  done  this?"  repeated  the  pale-faced 
throng.  "  Alas  !  alas  !  what  a  wedding  !  How 
terrible ! " 

The  desperate  young  creature  had  not  completed 
her  resolve,  for  the  physicians,  who  gathered  round, 
pronounced  her  still  alive ;  and,  when  she  was  borne 
to  her  chamber,  and  the  wound  examined,  they  said 
she  would  live,  with  tender  care. 

Then  the  heart  of  the  old  man,  her  father,  broke 
with  joy — he  died. 


A  pale,  sweet  face  looked  out  of  a  chamber  upon 
a  fair,  fresh  scene.  The  window  opened  to  the  floor, 
and  a  little  balcony  led  out  of  it  Beneath,  rose  a 
green  park,  and  stately  trees,  fountains,  and  flowers; 
a  grove  was  in  the  distance,  and  a  silver  lake.  The 
mansion  was  magnificent,  and  the  grounds  were  beau- 
tiful enough  to  stir  the  heart  of  the  saddest  one  to  joy. 

But  loveliest  of  all  was  the  pale  lady  who  sat  upon 
the  balcony.  She  was  very  young,  but  white  and  sad, 
and  robed  in  widow's  weeds.  Her  beautiful  golden- 
brown  hair  was  put  away  behind  a  widow's  cap,  but 
many  a  long,  bright  tress  stole  out  and  waved  upon 
her  bosom.  The  snowy  lids  and  thick  lashes  had  a 
mournful  way  of  shadowing  her  sad,  spiritual  eyes. 
A  beautiful  little  babe,  of  a  few  months  old,  nestled 


122  FRESH    LEAVES 

in  her  arms  —  a  little  girl,  with  bright  eyes,  bright 
hair,  bright  cheeks,  laughing  in  her  mother's  lap  like 
a  young  joy  clinging  to  a  sorrow —  a  sunli t-gleam  on 
a  pale  cloud  —  a  star  in  the  faint  arms  of  night 

The  lady  was  singing,  hi  a  low,  clear,  musical  voice, 
a  song  so  sad,"  and  touchingly,  wildly,  sweetly  mourn- 
ful, that,  if  a  servant  chanced  to  pass  beneath  the  bal- 
cony, he  stopped  and  listened  with  great  tears  rolling 
down  his  cheeks. 

"  Poor  thing !  poor  thing !  "  they  muttered  to  them-  ^ 
selves,  and  to  each  other,  "she  used  to  sing  it  so  much 
before  master  died,  and  she  sings  now  more  than  ever. 
I  do  n't  believe  she  married  the  one  she  loved  —  the 
master  was  not  good  enough  for  her — he  was  haughty 
and  angry.  She  has  always  been  so  meek,  and  kind, 
and  sweet  to  us  —  poor  lady  !  And  when  he  was 
brought  home  that  time  from  the  hunt,  all  bleeding 
and  pale  with  that  great  gash  in  his  forehead,  and 
she  tended  him  so  kindly  for  weeks,  never  leaving  him 
till  he  died,  how  he  used  take  her  hand  and  look  up 
so  pitiful-like,  and  ask  to  forgive  him  for  something  he 
had  done  to  grieve  her,  and  then  she  would  weep  and 
kneel  down  by  the  bed  and  pray  for  him.  And  now 
she  seems  so  lonely,  poor  creature,  with  no  one  to  love 
but  her  baby,  and  always  singing  that  sad  song." 

It  was  May  Endicott  who  sat  in  widow's  weeds, 
holding  her  infant,  and  chanting  that  mournful  song. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  123 

It  was  "  Allan  Percy  "  that  she  murmured  for  ever  to 
herself: 

"  Slumber  tliou  still,  my  innocent  —  mine  own, 

While  I  call  back  the  dreams  of  other  days ; 
In  the  deep  forest  I  feel  less  alone 

Than  when  those  palace  splendors  mock  my  gaze, 
Fear  not !  my  arm  shall  bear  thee  safely  back ; 
I  need  no  squire,  no  page  with  bended  knee, 
To  bear  my  baby  through  the  wild  wood  track 
Where  Allan  Percy  used  to  roam  with  me. 
Lullaby! 

"  Here  I  can  sit,  and,  while  the  fresh  wind  blows, 

Waving  the  ringlets  of  thy  shining  hair, 
Giving  thy  cheek  a  deeper  tinge  of  rose, 

I  can  dream  dreams  that  comfort  my  despair ; 
I  can  make  visions  of  a  different  home, 

Such  as  we  hoped  in  other  days  might  be  — 
There  no  proud  earl's  unwelcome  footsteps  come 
There,  Allan  Percy,  I  am  safe  with  thee. 
Lullaby  I 

"  Thou  art  mine  own  —  I  '11  bear  thee  where  I  list, 

Far  from  the  dull,  proud  town  and  donjon  keep ; 
From  my  long  hair  the  pearl  chain  I  '11  untwist, 

And  with  a  peasant's  heart  sit  down  and  weep. 
Thy  glittering,  broidered  robe,  my  precious  one, 

Changed  for  a  simpler  covering  shall  be ; 
And  I  will  dream  thee  Allan  Percy's  child, 

And  think  poor  Allan  guards  thy  sleep  with  me 
Lullaby ! " 


124  FRESH    LEAVES 

As  her  sweet  voice  trembled  on  the  mournful "  Lul- 
laby," a  servant  entered  with  a  missive. 

"They  say  this  is  for  you,  lady,  it  is  directed  to 
May  Grove." 

Laying  her  babe  quickly  in  the  cradle,  the  mother 
sprang  and,  taking  the  letter  eagerly  from  the  silver 
tray,  hurried  with  it  on  to  the  balcony,  and  tore  away 
the  seal  with  trembling  fingers.  For  the  first  time  in 
long  months  a  rich  flush,  like  that  of  girlhood,  shot  into 
her  cheek,  her  lips  quivered,  and  grew  red,  and  her 
dark  lashes  brightened  with  tears  as  she  read.  Then 
she  pressed  it  to  her  bosom  and  read  it  over,  and  over 
again. 

"  Oh !  May,  May,"  were  the  words  it  bore,  "  my 
darling,  my  precious  one,  how  shall  I  write  to  you  — 
what  shall  I  say  ?  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  heard  a 
human  voice  till  now  —  so  long  since  I  have  written 
or  spoken  to  anything  but  the  ocean,  and  the  wind, 
and  the  trees,  that  I  know  not  what  to  tell  you;  only 
that  with  every  grain  of  gold  I  have  gathered,  I  have 
treasured  a  thought  of  thee,  with  every  jewel,  I  have 
laid  up  a  hope  for  the  future.  My  wild  visions  are 
more  than  realized  —  all  the  monarchs  of  the  earth 
have  not  so  much  riches  as  I !  The  land  that  I  saw 
in  my  dreams,  I  have  found.  Gold  is  in  the  plains, 
and  in  the  mountains  in  abundance  for  thousands  of 
kings;  for  months  I  have  done  nothing  but  gather 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  125 

lumps  of  gold,  and  hide  them  away  in  a  secret  cave 
far  from  the  place  where  I  found  them.  If  a  million 
men  were  searching  for  it  they  could  not  find  my 
stronghold,  and  all  the  rest  I  am  willing  to  proclaim 
to  the  world.  Rare  jewels  I  found  in  one  valley,  and 
gathered  them  up  by  handfuls.  When  even  my  wild- 
est ambition  was  surfeited,  I  traveled  farther  down 
the  coast,  and  at  last  met  a  vessel,  and  have  commu- 
nicated my  discovery,  and  have  now  this  chance  of 
writing  to  you. 

"  Oh !  what  shall  I  say  to  you !  shall  I  tell  you  how 
I  have  sometimes  been  almost  mad  with  loneliness  — 
how  I  have  yearned  to  hear  you  speak  —  how  passion- 
ately I  trust  that  you  have  been  true  to  me  through 
silence  and  desertion.  It  is  but  a  little  while  longer 
now,  and  you  will  be  mine!  In  the  next  vessel  I 
shall  come! 

"  Oh !  my  beautiful,  my  peerless  May !  how  like  a 
princess  you  will  be  when  my  gold  and  gems  are 
woven  into  radiant  shapes  to  heighten  your  loveliness. 
When  I  sit  you  upon  a  jeweled  throne,  and  stand  by 
your  side,  how  mockingly  will  I  spurn  those  who  have 
once  slighted  me — spit  upon  me — striven  to  crush  me ! 

"  Sometimes  I  have  had  strange  trances  come  over 
me  since  I  came  here  —  visions  of  things  done  and 
seen  hundreds  of  years  ago,  creep  over  me.  I  have 

been  alone  so  long  that  I  attribute  it  to  that  —  your 
6 


126  FRESH     LEAVES 

presence  will  soothe  away  feverish  thoughts  —  we  will 
once  more  be  happy  —  oh!  so  happy!  Speedily  I 
shall  hasten  to  your  side,  oh !  loved  one !  Almost  as 
soon  as  my  letter  I  shall  come  to  thee  —  good-bye  for 
a  little  time." 

But  there  was  a  sharp  pang  of  pain,  mingled  with 
the  rapture  of  the  young  mother.  Would  he  love  her 
as  well,  now  that  she  had  been  compelled  to  wed 
another?  would  he  be  kind  to  her  sweet  babe? — had 
not  this  strange  infatuation  changed  and  hardened  his 
soul,  and  ruined  his  spiritual  beauty.  All  these  things 
her  heart  gave  her  an  answer  to.  Did  he  not  leave 
her  to  the  mercy  of  her  father,  and  that  man  —  and 
should  she  not  rather  blame  him,  than  he  her  ?  Was 
not  her  babe  too  sweet  and  beautiful  for  any  one  to 
help  loving  it  devotedly? — could  three  years  ruin  the 
glorious  spirit  whose  equal  she  had  never  met  ?  And 
the  young  widow  smiled,  and  was  happy. 

With  her  head  drooped  gracefully  to  her  hand,  and  a 
soft  color  glowing  on  lip,  and  cheek,  4»he  sat,  and  dream- 
ed, forgetful  of  all  around  her — till  suddenly,  startled 
by  a  step  at  her  side — he — her  glory,  her  dream,  her 
spirit-love  stood  before  her,  with  a  passionately  happy 
face. 

Oh!  that  was  a  meeting  of  great  joy,  for  one  of 
Earth 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  127 

Babylon  was  a  splendid  city !  —  so  was  Tyre,  and 
so  was  Rome !  In  ancient  days  there  was  much  mag- 
nificence —  stories  of  oriental  gorgeousness  have  been 
told  us  in  glowing  words,  like  diamonds  dropping  upon 
golden  wires !  —  but  there  was  a  city  that  triumphed 
over  Babylon,  and  Rome,  and  Tyre  —  there  was  an 
era  that  was  richer  in  splendor  than  the  days  of  old — 
that  was  a  land  that  rivaled  the  charmed  and  glitter- 
ing east! 

The  development  of  a  thousand  arts,  and  sciences 
had  made  that  city  like  a  sybil's  dream.  Ah-,  earth, 
and  water,  and  fire  were  easy  instruments  of  skill  to 
make  life  one  swift  hurry  from  pleasure  to  pleasure. 
Happiness  was  as  refined,  as  fragile,  as  delicate  as  the 
brief  being  of  the  etherealized  creatures  who  enjoyed 
it  Life  Avas  shortened,  but  the  pleasures  of  life  were 
condensed. 

No  clumsy  palaces,  nor  solemn-looking  towers  or 
temples  rose  to  sight.  Exquisite  edifices  elaborately 
graceful,  sprang  up  in  the  midst  of  orange,  and  mag- 
nolia trees,  and  wound  about  with  silvery  streams  that 
here  and  there  leaped  down  in  mimic  falls  and  play- 
ed upon  delicately-arranged  instruments,  whose  little 
wheels  moved  golden  wires  to  melody.  There  were 
light  barges  upon  dimpling  lakes;  there  were  silken- 
curtained  carriages  floating  through  air;  there  were 
luxury  and  idleness,  and  gorgeousness  in  the  city  of 


128  FRESH    LEAVES 

pleasure ;  and,  a  few  miles  away,  dark  men  toiled 
ceaselessly  in  dreary  mines,  for  shining  ore, 

Like  the  moon  among  the  stars,  one  palace  shone 
out  amid  all  others.  Standing  amid  lovely  terraces, 
and  fragrant  trees,  like  a  beautiful  statue  in  grace- 
fully-arranged drapery,  and  perfect  in  its  proportions 
as  an  exquisite  piece  of  sculpture,  it  was  a  rare  com- 
bination of  the  rich  and  chaste.  The  inside  of  this 
elegant  structure  was  like  a  picture,  or  a  poem  of  a 
spiritual  mind,  it  was  so  magnificent,  yet  so  intellectual 
in  its  arrangements.  No  one  but  a  woman,  a  dreamer, 
and  a  poetess,  could  have  fitted  up  those  labyrinthian 
apartments  with  such  bewildering  splendor,  yet  such 
exquisite  and  vision-like  effect 

In  an  inner  apartment  of  this  palace,  upon  a  rose- 
colored,  silken  lounge,  a  lady  lay  sleeping  away  the 
long  hours  of  the  summer  day.  Her  shining  hair 
was  braided  with  jewels,  and  her  small  hands  and 
lovely  arms  were  covered  with  rare  ornaments,  and 
her  little  foot  flashed  with  gems,  as  it  stole  out  from 
the  hem  of  her  dress.  This  beautiful  sleeper  was 
May  Mytalena,  the  wife  of  the  proud  man  who  had 
all  things  at  his  command  but  a  crown,  and  who  as- 
pired to  even  that  She  was  as  lovely  as  in  her  girlish 
days,  but  very  delicate  and  slight  Her  hands  were 
transparent,  and  her  forehead  and  temples  looked  too 
pure  and  spiritual  for  earth.  Her  cheek  had  a  rare, 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  129 

faint,  hectic  glow  that  was  ineffably  sweet,  and  her 
loving  lips  were  tinted  with  the  same  soft  color. 

She  was  restless  in  her  sleep,  and  murmured  to 
herself,    and  a  bright  tear  crept  out  from  beneath, 
each  lid,  and  hung  quivering  upon  the  dark,  closed 
lashes. 

Poor  May !  she  had  always  been  too  spiritual  for 
life.  In  her  girlhood,  the  base  spirit  of  her  miserly 
father  had  jarred  her  sensitive  soul  —  then  she  was 
torn  away  from  her  dreams  of  love,  and  holiness,  and 
beauty,  and  wedded  to  a  man  whose  heart  was  sunken 
in  selfishness  and  vice  —  then,  when  she  was  at  last 
united  to  the  ideal  of  her  spirit,  after  a  brief  space 
of  exquisite  happiness,  she  was  doomed  to  watch  the 
bloom  and  perfume  fade  from  their  flowers  of  love  — 
and,  instead  of  the  bright  waters  for  which  her  soul 
thirsted,  apples  of  silver  and  gold  were  served  to 
her  yearning  heart  —  and,  while  the  great  spirit  of 
Vernon  Mytalena  bent  all  its  energies  to  bringing 
men  and  riches  to  his  feet,  she  silently  pined  away 
for  want  of  spiritual  sympathy. 

While  the  tears  still  sparkled  on  her  lashes,  a  young 
girl  softly  stole  into  the  room,  and  sat  down  on  a  heap 
of  cushions  on  the  floor  by  her  mother's  side. 

Maud  Endicott  was  beautiful,  but  her  beauty  was 
like  her  father's,  haughty  and  dark.  A  slight,  small 
form;  dark,  passionate  eyes;  bright,  scornful  lips;  a 


130  FRESH    LEAVES 

queenly  bearing,  and  a  musical  voice,  with  raven  hai 
folded  like  a  crown,  and  richly  jeweled,  an  oval  fa(y«, 
small  hands,  and  magnificent  attire,  made  her  most 
princess-like.  She  could  love  and  hate  alike  —  and 
she  looked  upon  her  pure  and  fragile  mother  with 
a  deep  afiection,  that  made  her  haughty,  impulsive 
spirit  beautiful  and  meek  in  that  calm,  gentle  presence. 

Wondering  at  her  mother's  tears,  the  young  crea- 
ture kissed  them  away,  waking  the  sleeper  from  her 
mournful  dreams.  * 

"  There  were  tears  on  your  cheeks,  dear  mother," 
she  said  tenderly,  "  were  your  dreams  so  sad  ?  " 

The  invalid  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and,  raising  her 
large  eyes  to  her  daughter's  face,  replied  — 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  me  tell  you  all  my  life, 
now,  Maud?  You  know  something  of  my  history, 
now;  but  I  shall  not  be  here  long  to  tell  you  the 
rest,  and,  if  you  are  ready  to  hear,  I  will  talk  with 
you  about  it,  that  you  may  perhaps  have  more  knowl- 
edge of  life  to  guide  you,  when  your  mother's  careful 
hand  has  mouldered  to  dust" 

"Do  not  speak  of  that,"  said  Maud  with  tearful  eyes, 
nestling  her  head  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  mother's 
bosom,  and  preparing  to  listen  with  silent  interest 

In  a  low,  eloquent  impressive  tone,  broken  now 
and  then  by  sudden  emotion,  the  pale  lady  told  her 
tale  of  life;  and,  by  the  tears  that  streamed  down  the 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  131 

.  » 

cheeks  of  Maud,  at  the  cruelty  of  May's  father,  and 
her  parting  with  her  lover;  by  her  start  and  shudder 
at  the  incidents  of  May's  first  wedding-evening;  by 
her  breathless  eagerness,  when  hearing  of  her  own 
father's  character  and  fate,  she  showed  how  deeply 
rfhe  sympathized  in  the  story. 

"  Maud !  "  said  the  mother,  hi  an  earnest  tone,  as 
she  paused  near  the  end  of  her  narrative,  "  I  know 
not  whether  I  shall  dare  to  tell  you  the  rest,  or  not. 
If  I  thought  it  would  make  you  unhappy,  I  would  be 
still — if  I  thought  it  would  enable  you  better  to  meet 
evil,  I  would  speak  —  though  the  words  would  come 
bitter  and  slow  enough  from  my  heart." 

"  Then  do  not  distress  yourself,  dear,  dear  mother." 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  know  all,  my  child ;  but 
do  not  be  startled  at  anything  I  say.  It  has  always 
been  a  gift  of  mine  to  read,  with  a  kind  of  spiritual 
sight,  almost  every  thought  that  passes  through  the 
bosoms  of  others.  If  it  had  not  been  for  this,  I 
might,  perhaps,  have  seen  less  to  grieve  me  in  life  — 
I  might  not  now  be  pining  away  in  a  yearning  after 
pure  spirits. 

"  My  child,  you  know  you  are  very  beautiful ;  and 
that  gems  and  splendor  become  your  queenly  style ; 
you  are  ambitious  to  shine  the  brightest  and  the 
proudest  star  in  all  the  throng.  I  have  told  you 
how  the  once  grand  and  gifted  soul  of  my  husband 


- 


132  FRESH    LEAVES 

has  gradually  become  absorbed  in  ambitious  dreams 
of  power,  and  a  baneful  passion  for  gold — gold.  In 
place  of  the  tender  love  he  once  bore  for  me,  he  has 
now  only  the  desire  to  see  me  moving  in  the  throng, 
or  enthroned  in  stately  pomp,  blazing  with  jewels,  and 
bright  with  pride.  In  this  he  is  disappointed ;  my 
nature  and  ill  health  unfitting  me  for  the  task;  and 
lately,  has  woke  up  to  a  sudden  sense  of  your  beauty 
and  queenliness  —  his  love  has  turned  from  me  to 
you — and,  when  I  am  dead,  which  will  soon  be,  he 
will  seek  you  for  a  wife." 

"Oh!  mother!"  murmured  the  young  girL 
"  I  have  told  you  this,"  said  the  mother  calmly, 
"  that  you  may  understand  the  love  he  will  proffer 
you — it  is  not  pure,  it  will  not  make  you  happy — it 
is  only  a  kind  of  triumph  in  your  beauty.  Then  I 
implore  you,  by  the  purity  of  your  young  heart,  by 
all  your  impulses  of  affection,  by  my  unhappiness,  not 
to  wed  yourself  to  one  who  will  clothe  you  as  his  idol, 
and  place  you  upon  a  shrine  of  gold,  and  call  his 
cringing  followers  around  to  worship  you.  Have  a 
higher  ambition,  my  daughter;  be  better,  be  nobler 
than  this,  or  you  will  never  meet  me  in  the  spirit- 
world  to  which  I  shortly  go." 

"  I  have  always  loved  him  as  a  father ;  how  could 
you  think  I  would  do  this  thing,"  murmured  the 
weeping  girl. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  133 

"  Because  I  think  I  know  your  heart,  my  daughter ; 
and  you  are  too  young  and  beautiful  not  to  be  daz- 
zled by  the  ambition  to  be  the  queen  of  all  this  fair, 
great  land.  But  you  will  remember  what  I  have  said ; 
and  promise  me  to  wed  for  love,  not  power,  will  you 
not,  my  child  ?  " 

The  answer  of  the  young  girl  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Vernon  Mytalena,  who  came  and 
sat  down  by  them,  and,  holding  the  thin  hand  of 
the  mother,  looked  into  the  beautiful  face  of  the 
child. 

Tears,  and  care,  and  struggling  passions  had  altered 
the  inspired  dreamer  more  than  his  lovely  wife;  his 
glorious  beauty  had  fled  —  his  once  eager,  eloquent 
lips  were  habitually  compressed,  bis  eyes  were  sunken, 
and  his  brow  contracted  —  yet  was  he  a  noble  and 
splendid  man,  whose  words,  and  tone,  and  manner 
were  full  of  a  quiet,  haughty  consciousness  of  power, 
which  few  would  care  to  dispute. 

As  he  sat  and  looked  into  the  face  of  Maud,  those 
words  of  her  mother — "be  the  queen  of  ah1  this  land," 
burned  in  her  thoughts,  and,  unconsciously,  she  gazed 
upon  him  and  wondered  how  long  it  would  be  before 
he  grew  old,  and  how  much  gray  there  was  mingled 
with  his  raven  locks,  and  whether  it  would  be  possible 
to  love  a  man  like  him.  Suddenly  she  was  conscious 
of  the  large  eyes  of  her  mother  reading  her  soul,  and, 
6* 


134  FRESH    LEAVES 

with   a  burning  blush,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
mother's  bosom,  whispering, 

"  I  promise — I  promise  what  you  ask." 


There  was  a  splendid  pageant  in  the  streets  of  the 
great  western  city.  There  was  a  costly  hearse  draped 
with  rich  hangings,  and  bearing  a  superb  coffin  sol- 
emnly— a  coffin  fit  to  enshrine  the  fair  form  of  the 
great  man's  wife  —  the  inner  one  of  solid  silver,  and 
the  outer  of  polished  ebony  with  gold  plates,  and  in- 
scription set  in  mosaic ;  and  all  this  drawn  by  twelve 
slow-stepping,  jet-black  steeds,  and,  walking  at  the 
head  of  each,  a  servant  in  sable  livery.  There  was 
an  immense  procession  of  splendid  carriages  covered 
with  funeral  trappings,  and  all  the  pomp,  and  show, 
and  ceremony,  and  richness  possible.  The  tomb  was 
magnificent,  in  a  sweet,  solemn  spot,  where  she  had, 
before  her  death,  requested  it  to  be. 

There  were  great  tears  of  sorrow  dropped  around 
the  grave  of  the  sweet,  dead  lady,  but  they  fell  not 
from  the  eyes  of  the  chief  mourner.  He  was  becom- 
ingly calm  and  stern,  and  held  upon  his  strong  arm 
the  faint  form  of  the  young  girl  who  mourned  most 
passionately  for  her  mother. 

Could  it  be  that  Vernon  thought,  in  that  solemn 
hour,  of  the  first  time  he  ever  looked  upon  the  radiant 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  135 

face  of  the  bright  dreamer  now  lying  white  and  still 
in  all  this  fearful  state?  No  matter  !  she  died  as 
many  a  dreamer  dies  —  her  heart  wasted  away  as 
does  many  a  poet's  heari  Yet  he  must  have  felt 
something  of  his  old  spirit  coming  back  to  him  —  he 
must  have  seen  again  vividly  the  beautiful,  neglected 
picture  of  his  mother  —  have  started  with  a  remem- 
brance of  his  father,  and  of  how  different  was  his  de- 
votion to  his  bride  —  have  thrilled  with  a  memory  of 
his  youthful  inspiration  —  have  sickened  one  moment 
with  the  thought  of  his  hollow,  mocking  life. 

But  even  with  all  these  thoughts,  was.  not  a  brighter 
and  a  prouder  than  she,  clinging  in  beautiful  sorrow 
to  his  arm — was  there  not  richness  and  show  enough 
here,  to  atone  for  all  the  want  of  love  ? 

And  thenceforth  the  troubled  heart  of  the  spiritual 
May  rested  sweetly  in  the  grave. 


Maud  EiMicott  sat  upon  a  sofa  opposite  a  large  mir-' 
ror,  blushing,  and  trembling,  and  striving  to  appear 
calm.  She  was  alone,  but  evidently  awaiting  a  visitor. 
She  was  dressed  with  elaborate  richness  and  care. 
A  small  tiara  of  costly  gems  sparkled  above  her  fore- 
head —  that  forehead  so  sweet,  and  smooth,  and  clas- 
sic. There  were  bands  of  emeralds  half  hiding  the 
exquisite  arms  from  the  small  wrist  to  the  white 


138 


FKE8H    LEAVES 


shoulders,  from  which  the  looped-up  tissue  of  lace 
waved  lightly  back  Her  dress  was  of  green  velvet, 
with  a  rich  black  silken  tissue  floating  over  it,  caught 
here  and  there  with  emerald  brooches.  Where  her 
thick,  raven  hair  was  folded  over  her  head,  a  sweet 
crimson  rosebud  nestled,  relieving  the  splendor  of 
attire  almost  too  heavily  rich  for  a  young  girl. 

Suddenly  the  little  foot  that  patted  the  carpet  so 
restlessly  grew  still,  and,  playing  with  her  jeweled 
fan,  she  affected  not  to  perceive  the  intruder  who 
entered  softly,  until  he  was  by  her  side. 

"  Maud ! "  he  said,  and  sat  down  by  her  side,  and 
took  her  beautiful  hand  in  his. 

She  shuddered  slightly  as  he  did  this ;  yet>  with  the 
strange  contradiction  of  the  human  heart,  it  was  for 
him  she  had  attired  her  loveliness  to  such  advantao-e. 

O 

"My  father/"  she  said  with  infinite  tact,  with- 
drawing her  hand  to  arrange  a  fold  of  her  dress. 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  by  that  hateful  name  ?  "  he 
replied  impatiently  —  "  call  me  anything  but  that  ! 
Will  you  not  speak  to  me  as '  Vernon,'  as  '  friend  ? ' — 
will  you  not  some  time  consent  to  address  me  as 
your  husband?  " 

"Why  do  you  still  trouble  me  with  words  like 
these  ?  "  asked  the  beautiful  girl,  in  a  low  voice,  while 
the  color  deepened  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  proud  eyes 
were  turned  to  his  reproachfully. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  131 

"  Trouble  you !  am  I  so  hateful  to  you  Maud  ? —  so 
poor,  so  aged,  so  infirm,  so  vile,  that  you  slight  me 
thus  ?  or,  do  you  love  another  ?  " 

"  No  —  no  —  no !  "  said  the  young  girl  quickly. 

"  Then  will  you  not  love  me,  Maud  ?  " 

The  haughty  man  was  kneeling  before  her,  clasp- 
ing both  her  hands  in  his,  and  with  his  dark  eyes 
earnestly  reading  her  face.  He  had  mused  so  long 
upon  her  beauty  and  pride,  and  striven  so  hard  to 
win  her,  that  the  passionate  affection  of  his  youth 
was  almost  stirred  again  within  his  heart  —  he  felt 
that  she  must  be  his.  Had  she  yielded  at  first  to 
his  pleading,  he  would  have  esteemed  her  only  as  the 
beautiful  crown  of  his  pomp  and  pride;  but  his  na- 
ture was  one  too  passionate  and  strong  to  yield  to 
opposition  —  and  that  the  haughty  young  creature 
should  dare  to  refuse  his  hand,  but  awakened  him 
to  a  sense  of  her  charms,  and  made  him  the  more 
determined  in  his  wish. 

There  was  a  flash  of  triumph  hi  Maud's  eyes  when 
she  saw  him  at  her  feet — a  thousand  youthful  lovers 
would  not  have  flattered  her  so  much;  and,  looking 
into  the  face  upturned  to  hers,  she  was  almost  start- 
led by  the  wonderful  beauty  that  again  lit  it  up  iu 
that  moment  of  anxiety.  She  forgot  her  promise  to 
her  dead  mother,  and  thought  that  she  might  love 
him — surely  his  soul  was  one  to  inspire  respect  and 


138  FRESH     LEAVES 

awe,  and  now  he  looked  as  tender,  and  as  earnest* 
and  far  more  fascinating  than  any  youthful  lover. 
But,  true  to  her  own  nature,  so  naturally  aspiring 
and  designing,  with  the  thought  that  she  might  ac- 
cept his  proffered  glory,  came  a  fuller  consciousness 
of  her  power  over  the  great  man,  and  how  she  could 
wield  it  to  bring  the  fulfilling  of  her  wildest  dreams 
of  ambition. 

"  Will  you  not  answer  me  ?  "  he  asked  more  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Even  if  the  preference  of  my  heart  is  given  to 
you,  I  must  show  respect  to  the  memory  of  my 
mother,"  she  answered,  with  averted  eyes. 

"  If  we  say  that  it  shall  be,  will  the  world  dare 
to  dictate  as  to  what  is  right  ? "  exclaimed  Vernon 
passionately. 

"  It  might  be,  that  they  would  not  wish  to  disap- 
prove," said  the  fair  girl,  turning  her  large  eyes  full 
upon  his  —  "if  you  were  their  monarch,  and  I  your 
queen." 

"  You  would  love  to  be  a  queen,  would  you,  my 
peerless  one  ?  "  said  the  lover  with  a  smile,  for  he 
admired  the  aspiring  spirit  of  that  youthful,  glorious 
woman. 

Maud  did  not  reply  in  words;  but  she  answered 
his  smile  with  one  most  soft  and  bewildering,  and, 
bending  over,  touched  her  bright  lips  gently  to  Itis 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  139 

forehead.  Then,  blushing  at  the  deed,  she  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  fair  hands,  which  were  taken  softly 
away  and  showered  with  kisses,  while  he  said,  in  a 
gay,  proud  tone, 

"  These  tiny-  fingers  would  sway  the  scepter,  would 
they,  my  eloquent  one?  Well  fitted  they  are  for 
such  a  task  And  this  form,  too,  and  that  haughty 
spirit,  were  made  for  a  throne.  And,  if  I  should 
promise  you  a  crown,  would  you  not  be  mine,  and 
wear  it  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! "  said  the  young  girl,  slowly,  "  when  the 
crown  is  gained." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times,  my  dear  one ;  but 
why  must  we  wait  till  the  scepter  is  ours  ?  " 

"  The  people  might  murmur  at  this  sudden  mar- 
riage, Vernon ;  but  now  you  have  their  respect  Gold 
alone  will  not  purchase  a  kingdom,  in  this  age,  dear- 
est ;  intellectual  power  and  grandeur  must  be  added 
to  its  magic.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are,  sweet  Maud  —  but  if  my  joy 
must  be  delayed  till  this  triumph  is  achieved,  I  shall 
labor  most  perseveringly  to  accomplish  our  ambition. 
Then  you  will  accept  the  crown  I  lay  at  your  feet — 
you  will  be  mine,  most  beautiful  one,  will  you  not  ?  " 

With  a  radiant  smile,  the  glowing  face  of  Maud 
drooped  upon  his  shoulder,  and  she  whispered  in  his 

ear — 

I 


140  FRESH    LEAVES 

"  That  day,  I  will  be  your  queen." 
"  And,  when  she  raised  her  face  again,  the  mirror 
opposite  reflected  its  expression  of  triumphant  hap- 
piness. Then  the  thought  of  her  mother's  words 
came  full  upon  her  heart,  and  she  shuddered  with 
a  sudden  presentiment. 


With  a  heavy  tramp  —  tramp  —  tramp,  Vernon 
Mytalena  paced  his  gorgeous  sleeping-room,  wearing 
out  the  night  with  his  slow,  dragging  steps.  His  arms 
were  folded  tightly  over  his  breast,  and  he  muttered 
to  himself  in  painful  tones  — 

"  If  this  burning  thought  would  not  haunt  me  for 
ever,  I  think  I  might  be  happy.  Is  not  all  that  I  ever 
craved,  mine,  or  soon  to  be  mine  ?  yet  the  veriest  slave 
is  not  so  wretched  as  I  am  now !  Sleep  has  fled  away. 
Oh !  this  dreadful,  dreadful  oppression  that  weighs  me 
down  —  this  thought  that  is  never  defined  —  this 
presentiment  that  has  no  shape  —  this  memory,  and 
knowledge  of  things  unseen,  unknown,  far  down  the 
vista  of  the  past  —  these  haunting  images  of  sweet, 
pure,  Jewish  faces  smiting  upon  me  in  marble  halls, 
or  sleeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  cedars  of  Lebanon  — 
this  flitting  of  forms,  and  scenes  before  me,  van- 
ishing ere  I  have  grasped  their  shape  —  this  weight, 
this  curse,  this  iron  hand  upon  my  bosom,  till  every 


FKOM    WESTERN    WOODS.  141 

breath  comes  struggling  —  I  shall  go  mad  —  I  shall 
go  mad ! 

"  Oh !  the  torture  of  being  mocked  by  doubt,  by 
fear,  by  unknown  evil !  I  can  brave  the  world  — 
death  —  battle  —  hate  —  anything  but  this  haunting 
spirit  wliich  I  have  no  hope  to  conquer  or  subdue, 
because  I  know  not  its  form,  because  I  can  not  war 
with  a  shadow,  though  that  shadow  freeze  me  by 
slow  degrees,  and  rest  heavier  than  lead  upon  my  soul. 

"Oh,  Miriam,  for  one  soft  touch  of  thy  hand  upon 
my  feverish  brow !  Miriam  !  Miriam  did  I  say  ?  — 
what  brought  that  name  to  my  lips — what  brought 
that  vision  of  a  pure,  proud,  spiritual  girl  before  my 
eyes?  Yet  I  knew  her  —  I  loved  her  —  our  vows 
were  plighted  by  the  starry  waves  of  Galilee.  What 
did  I  say  ?  it  must  have  been  in  my  restless  dreams 
that  I  have  seen  her  so  often.  I  think  I  am  mad!  it 
must  be !  How  absurd !  that  I  should  fancy  myself 
in  Palestine,  with  a  Jewish  maiden's  black  eyes  smiling 
into  mine  —  ha !  ha !  how  absurd !  I  am  mad  —  ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

And  trying  to  dissipate  his  wretched  thoughts  by  a 
pretence  of  mirth,  the  unhappy  man  laughed  to  him- 
self and  paced  his  room  with  faster  steps.  Then,  as 
the  tenor  of  his  thoughts  changed,  he  spoke  again. 

"  My  conspiracy  is  admirably  arranged  —  all  goes 
well  —  it  will  be  but  a  little  scheming,  a  little  blood 


142  FRESH    LEAVES 

shed,  a  few  millions  of  my  gold,  and  a  third  of  this 
great  Republic  will  be  hi  my  hands  —  and  I  its  king ! 
And  who,  after  that,  shall  dare  to  place  a  limit  to  my 
power — the  rest  of  this  Republic,  the  rest  of  the  world 
will  be  in  my  hands  ere  years  have  fled — such  great- 
ness, such  glory,  such  splendor ! — I  shall  go  wild  with 
ambition.  Yet  I  must  be  calm  —  a  fearfully  great 
mind  and  strong,  cool  energies  alone  can  accomplish 
this  —  but  I  should  not  fear,  I  should  exult  in  the 
power  of  mind  required,  did  not  this  feverish  dream, 
that  will  not  be  shaken  off,  at  times  unman  me  with 
its  mocking  face. 

"But  even  that  dTSam  shall  yield!  nothing  can 
daunt  me  but  death,  and  that  I  know  will  allow  me 
to  fulfill  my  schemes.  Why,  Miriam,  look  not  so  re- 
proachfully—  Miriam  again!  well,  I  will  try  to  sleep 
and  drive  her  phantom  face  away.  To-morrow  I  must 
be  calm  and  strong,  and  I  need  repose.  But  no,  I  will 
not  sleep;  I  will  write,  write,  write,  till  the  time  of 
action  comes!  it  eases  my  restless  soul  to  bind  it  to 
the  task  of  writing,  and  perhaps  if  I  put  my  plans 
upon  paper  more  fully  and  analyze  them  more  closely, 
I  shall  be  more  calm  and  prepared." 

For  the  rest  of  the  night  he  wrote  rapidly,  and  just 
as  day  was  breaking,  threw  himself  exhausted  on  his 
couch,  and  sank  quickly  into  a  disturbed  slumber. 

It  was  not  long  beforo,  from  a  small  closet,  a  man 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  143 

crept  out  and  stood  in  the  room,  his  eyes  burning  with 
malice,  as  he  regarded  for  a  moment  the  sleeping 
conspirator. 

"  Poor  fool !  "  he  said,  with  a  bitter  sneer,  "  it  is 
dangerous  to  trample  even  a  serpent  under  your 
haughty  heel.  One  enemy  can  rival  ten  million 
friends,  sometimes ;  and  an  ill-used  servant  can  take  a 
world  from  the  hand  of  his  master.  Ha !  a  third  of 
the  Republic  will  be  yours  when  you  awake ! "  and 
gathering  up  the  manuscripts  which  were  scattered 
over  the  table,  he  stole  from  the  room. 

Yet  this  man  was  only  a  hateful  lacker,  whom  Ver- 
non  had  angered  by  some  little  word  or  deed. 

And  while  the  conspirator  slept  on  his  costly  couch, 
dreaming  of  coming  glory,  the  lightning  fingers  of  the 
telegraph  were  deciphering  to  the  astonished  great 
men  at  the  seat  of  government,  the  daring  and  skillful 
plot  which  his  mighty  brain  had  fashioned  and  nearly 
consummated. 


"  Maud !  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

There  was  a  breathless  silence. 

"Maud  do  you  love  me?  me,  alone  —  destitute  of 
power,  and  splendor,  a  wanderer,  an  outcast,  would 
you  love  me  still  ?  Speak,  quick !  this  is  the  hour  to 
try  your  soul." 


144  FRESH    LEAVES 

The  speaker  was  Vernon  Mytalena,  who  had  burst 
into  the  apartment  where  she  sat  sweeping  a  golden 
lyre  with  her  jeweled  fingers,  and  sank  at  her  feet 
His  face-  was  very  pale,  his  eyes  burning,  his  brow 
contracted  with  an  expression  of  doubt  and  agony. 

Maud  started,  and  the  bright  crimson  died  away 
from  her  cheeks  at  his  strange  manner,  and  pallid  face. 

"  That  is  a  strange  question  to  ask  of  me,  is  it  not  ? 
you  frighten  me,  you  seem  so  earnest,"  she  said  with 
an  attempt  to  smile,  as  a  quick  presentiment  of  evil 
rushed  over  her. 

"This  is  no  time  to  trifle,  Maud  —  what  I  must 
know  is,  if  you  love  me!" — and  flinging  his  arm  around 
her  waist,  he  drew  her  down  toward  him,  and  looked 
into  her  face  with  his  burning,  intense  eyes.  "  Maud !  " 
he  continued  in  a  low,  distinct  tone,  "  all  is  lost  — 
friends,  fortune,  power  —  I  must  flee  —  even  now  the 
officers  are  in  pursuit  of  me.  It  was  for  you  I  grasped 
so  high,  and  will  you  not  share  the  fall  with  me  ?  " 

The  young  girl  made  no  reply.  The  color  had  all 
died  away  from  her  beautiful  marble  face ;  there  was 
a  great  struggle  in  her  bosom. 

"  Every  instant  that  I  linger,  Maud,  perils  my  life. 
I  have  but  one  chance  of  escape  —  there  is  a  passage 
leading  from  our  palace,  under  the  round,  and  open- 
ing into  a  cave  upon  the  ocean  shore.  There  is  a 
small  vessel  there  that  I  provided  far  this  emergency. 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  145 

There  are  provisions,  and  water,  and  a  few  men  to 
man  it  —  we  will  flee  to  some  remote  nook,  till  the 
tide  of  fortune  again  bears  me  back  to  the  splendor  I 
now  leave.  Will  you  go  ?" 

The  beautiful  girl  turned  away  her  eyes  from  that 
pallid  and  painfully  disturbed  face.  Love  and  ambi- 
tion struggled  in  her  proud  heart.  Where  were  her 
queenly  dreams  of  fame  and  glory — where  her  glit- 
tering crown  —  where  the  worshipers  at  her  shrine 
of  beauty?  Could  she  find  all  these  in  the  lonely 
spot  to  which  they  would  flee  ?  — with  only  that  one 
disappointed  man  to  admire,  and  flatter,  and  love 
her — with  no  whispered  adulation  to  charm  her  ear — 
no  eyes  to  droop  before  her  eloquent  scorn.  Then 
she  thought  of  her  mother — "She  would  bless  me 
for  clinging-  to  him  in  the  time  of  desolation,"  her 
heart  murmured  to  itself. 

"  Do  you  not  hear  the  tread  of  many  feet  about 
our  palace  —  do  you  not  hear  the  tumult  in  the  rooms 
below  ?  there  is  but  one  instant  for  you  to  speak ! " 

The  excited  man  held  both  her  hands  with  a  grasp 
that  almost  crushed  them,  and  his  burning  eyes  watch- 
ed her  quivering  lips 

"No — no — I  cannot  go!"  she  murmured  at  last, 
as  the  tumult  below  grew  louder  and  more  loud. 

One  deep  groan  burst  from  the  breast  of  the  unhap- 
py conspirator,  and,  flinging  her  hand  from  him  ho 


146  FRESH    LEAVES 

strode  to  the  door.  Maud  summoned  courage  to  look 
at  his  face ;  it  was  as  proud  as  hi  its  most  glorious 
scenes  of  triumph,  and  a  thousand  times  more  grand 
hi  its  defiance  of  despair.  He  flung  open  the  door 
leading  into  a  long  passage  and,  as  he  passed  through, 
Maud  fell  fainting  upon  his  bosom,  with  her  feeble 
arms  clasping  his  neck. 

"  Forgive,  forgive !  I  could  not  live  without  you  — 
death,  or  poverty,  or  despair,  I  share  it  with  you," 
she  murmured,  as  her  eyes  closed  in  insensibility. 

Lifting  her  in  his  arms  like  a  little  child,  he  pressed 
one  passionate  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  and  fled  with 
her  along  the  dark  passage  and  down  a  flight  of  steps, 
and  again  through  a  damp  and  midnight  vault,  on, 
on,  till  the  sound  of  surging  waves  smote  faintly  on 
his  ear. 

In  another  moment,  he  stood  in  a  dim  cave,  and 
the  ocean  lay  at  his  feet,  flashing  and  foaming  against 
the  sharp  rock  A  little  vessel  lay  dreamily  in  the 
dim  light  upon  the  deep  water  close  to  this  rock,  and 
a  dozen  men  were  rowing  silently  about,  filling  casks 
with  water  from  a  gushing  spring,  and  stowing  away 
boxes  of  provisions  in  their  small  ship.  They  gave  a 
low  huzza  when  their  leader  appeared. 

"We  feared  they  had  prevented  your  coming," 
said  one. 

"  No  —  no  —  my  men,  I  am  safe ;  and,  if  you  get 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         147 

me  from  this  place  unharmed,  there  is  a  brave  box 
of  glittering  gold  for  you,  stowed  away  ha  yonder 
nook,"  sayl  Vernon,  pointing  to  a  recess  hi  the  cave, 
as  he  sat  down  by  the  spring  and  bathed  the  fair 
forehead  of  the  young  girl  hi  the  cool  water,  and 
smoothed  back  the  dark  tresses  that  had  fallen  from 
the  gold  network  which  chained  them. 

"  And  a  poor  lady  is'  to  go  with  him ;  how  sweet 
she  is,"  they  murmured  to  each  other,  as  they  stole 
glances  of  reverential  admiration  at  her  beautiful  face. 

When  the  light  and  life  came  back  to  the  deep  eyes 
of  Maud,  instead  of  a  lofty  palace,  with  luxury,  and 
magnificence,  and  pomp,  she  found  herself  lying  on 
a  heap  of  rude  cushions,  her  head  supported  on  the 
bosom  of  her  lover,  and  only  the  humble  vessel  for  a 
home,  and  rocks  and  waves  for  the  only  surroundings, 
in  the  place  of  fretted  domes,  and  carpets  rich  and 
soft 

"  My  poor  —  poor  Maud !  "  moaned  the  wretched 
man. 

"  I  am  happy  here,"  was  her  low  reply,  as  she 
nestled  her  pale  face  closer  to  his  bosom;  but  she 
sighed  as  her  glance  fell  upon  the  jewels  and  silken 
attire  that  glittered  around  her  form. 

The  day  was  fast  deepening  into  twilight,  and,  un- 
der cover  of  the  night,  they  were  to  put  out  from 
their  hiding-place,  and  trust  themselves,  in  then-  frail 


148  FRESH    LEAVES 

bark,  to  the  mercies  of  the  sea.  The  twilight  deep- 
ened into  intense  darkness,  as  Vernon  and  Maud  sat 
together  awaiting  their  fata  There  were  no  stars 
visible,  and  the  sailors  muttered  to  themselves  that 
there  would  be  a  storm.  But  the  box  of  gold  was 
a  greater  matter  with  them  than  the  fear  of  death, 
and  they  went  bravely  to  work,  and  the  vessel  was 
soon  gliding  over  the  waves. 

It  was  not  long  till  the  wind  began  to  moan,  and 
the  sails  to  shiver,  and  the  waves  to  murmur  impa- 
tiently. The  night  deepened  and  the  storm  grew 
wilder;  sharp  flashes  of  lightning  revealed  the  sea, 
glittering  with  foam  and  tossing  terribly.  Maud  clung 
in  mute  terror  to  the  bosom  of  her  lover;  one  of  his 
strong  arms  circled  her  waist,  and  the  other  clasped 
tight  the  mast,  to  prevent  the  blast  from  lifting  them 
into  the  sea 

And  the  flashes  of  lightning  grew  more  vivid  and 
frequent,  and  the  thunder  muttered,  and  the  wind 
shrieked,  and  the  waves  moaned.  Though  the  storm 
was  grand  beyond  expression,  there  was  nothing  in 
it  so  sublimely  beautiful  as  the  two  forms  who  stood 
revealed  in  the  constant  gleams  of  light  The  strong, 
great  nature  of  the  conspirator,  perverted  and  dark- 
ened as  its  glory  had  been,  now  shone  most  grandly 
in  this  hour  of  fear  and  danger.  His  noble  face  was 
almost  inspired  with  its  look  of  calm  courage,  and 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  149 

almost  stern  contempt  of  fear ;  softened  into  beauty  by 
the  tenderness  with  which  he  looked  upon  the  young 
creature,  whose  pleading,  eloquent  eyes  rested  upon 
his  face,  to  read  there  whether  to  hope  or  despair. 
The  wild  blast  fluttered  her  silken  robe,  and  her  long- 
hair streamed  like  a  black  banner  around  her  slight 
form  ;  her  jeweled  hands,  and  arms,  and  forehead 
flashed  with  a  mocking  brilliancy,  as  if  they  laughed 
at  the  terror  of  the  scene. 

The  vessel  shuddered  and  staggered,  and  again 
leaped  boldly  from  wave  to  wave.  As  the  storm 
grew  more  terrible,  the  lovers  clung  closer  to  each 
other.  One  moment  they  stood  heart  to  heart  and 
lip  to  lip  —  the  next  they  were  riven  apart  for  ever, 
and  were  gasping  in  the  furious  wave  that,  sweeping- 
over  their  little  vessel,  carried  all  its  crew  to  destruc- 
tion. A  flash  of  light  revealed  to  Vernon  the  bright 
form  of  the  young  girl  sinking  in  the  angry  sea;  he 
had  one  glance  at  her  white  face  ;  he  heard  her 
shriek  his  name  in  a  sharp  tone  of  agony,  and  the 
next  moment  all  was  dark.  The  vessel,  the  stern 
men,  the  beautiful  girl,  were  gone  for  ever. 

Oh!  that  was  a  horrible,  horrible  night  to  Vernon 
Mytalena.  He  could  not  drown!  On  and  on  he  was 
borne  by  the  rushing  waves — he  sank — he  rose — he 
struggled  —  he  gasped  —  he  suffocated  —  yet  still  he 

could  lot  drown! 

7 


150  FRESH     LEAVES 

The  storm  went  by ;  the  moon  came  out  and  looked 
down  upon  the  tired  ocean,  whose  bosom  yet  heaved 
as  if  the  breath  came  hard  and  heavily, —  she  smiled 
upon  the  waves,  and  they  answered  back  her  smiley 
Yet  still  the  form  of  that  strange  man  floated  on  the 
glittering  deep.  The  wildest  thought  cannot  reach 
to  the  extremity  of  his  suffering  through  those  dread- 
ful hours.  Once  more  he  knew  himself.  The  man 
of  twenty  centuries  knew  himself/  The  fearful  scene 
of  the  crucifixion  of  Christ;  the  three  hours  of  dark- 
ne*ss  and  terror  that  followed,  when  the  vail  of  the 
temple  was  rent  in  twain ;  his  first  great  anguish  of 
remorse ;  the  perishing  away  of  his  beloved  kindred ; 
the  fearful  plagues  he  had  brought  upon  mankind; 
the  heavy,  iron,  slow-rolling  years  that  had  passed 
over  him ;  his  prayer  for  a  short  respite ;  the  manner 
in  which  it  was  granted ;  the  wearisome  future ;  oh ! 
how  horrible  was  that  night! 

His  Miriam  floated  in  the  air  above,  with  her  pure 
eyes  sorrowfully  fixed  upon  his  face,  as  she  circled 
above  him  in  shining  robes  and  disappeared  among 
the  stars ;  his  May  paled  and  pined  away  before  him, 
and  sank  into  the  sea;  his  Maud's  death-shriek  rang 
through  his  brain,  and  he  saw  her  face  on  every 
passing  wave. 

Then  the  voice  of  the  Serpent  was  once  more  in 
his  ear — 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  151 

"The  respite  thou  didst  plead  for,  I  have  given 
tliee;  and,  in  return,  the  work  I  trusted  thee  to  per- 
form thou  hast  well  done.  The  seeds  of  idleness, 
•  and  luxury,  and  death,  thou  hast  planted,  and  the  har- 
vest shall  be  rich.  Eejoice !  for  it  hath  shortened  the 
days  of  thy  probation  —  it  hath  hurried  the  great 
reward  of  my  followers.  Ha !  ha !  my  own  power  is 
shortly  to  be  chained  for  a  thousand  years,  and  did 
I  not  well  to  multiply  my  works  in  good  season,  by 
making  thee  my  friend  and  servant!  Ha!  ha!  thou 
hast  done  nobly,  and  goodly  fruit  shall  spring  from 
the  seeds  thou  hast  planted  —  anarchy,  and  treason, 
and  war — splendor,  effeminacy,  and  guilt  —  0,  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah  —  0,  Tyre  and  Sidon,  blush  with 
shame!  behold,  there  shall  a  greater  arise  than  ye — 
'  it  shall  be  more  tolerable  for  ye  in  the  day  of  judg- 
ment ' — ye  will  not  be  mine  so  entirely.  What !  art 
thou  not  grateful  for  thy  long  respite? — art  thou  not 
glad  that  I  command  thee  ?  Yet  will  I  promise  thee 
that  fire,  earth,  air,  and  water  shall  harm  thee  not, 
that  thou  shalt  still  be  saved  for  thy  mission  —  thou 
wilt  have  a  few  years  yet  to  grow  old.  Farewell !  a 
few  times  more  will  we  meet  I  hear  my  friends  in 
the  deep  sea  laughing  at  our  meeting  —  they  rejoice 
with  those  who  rejoice  —  ha !  ha !  " 

And  again,  from  away  down  in  the  ocean's  depths, 
the  Wanderer  heard  that  hateful  laugh  ringing  up 


152  FRESH     LEAVES 

through  the  waves  with  its  terrible  "ha!  ha!  ha!  " 
And  when  the  sea  left  him,  at  last,  lying  faint  and 
weary  upon  the  burning  sands,  surely  never  one  day 
so  fearful  a  change  had  wrought  in  the  destinies  of 
mortal  man.  His  empire  was  a  ruin  —  his  vast  riches 
had  passed  away  —  his  bride  was  in  the  deep  —  two 
thousand  years  was  on  his  heart  —  a  curse  was  on  his 
head  —  the  splendor  and  glory  of  his  hopes  was  a 
dream — his  respite  was  a  mockery!  Slowly  he  lifted 
his  fainting  form  from  the  barren  shore,  and  com- 
menced again  his  weary  wanderings,  murmuring,  in 
a  broken  voice,  with  head  bowed  upon  his  breast  — 
"  Surely  the  great  God  will  soon  be  merciful!" 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  153 


THE  SILVER  LUTE; 


THE    GIPSY    SINGER, 


1  MERRY  party  were  gathered  round  the  tall  May- 
_LJL  pole,  which,  decked  with  flower  garlands  and 
streaming  with  gay  ribbons,  arose  from  the  center  of 
the  village  green.  Happy  swains  were  there,  con- 
tented for  the  while  but  to  gaze  upon  the  group 
of  buxom,  rosy-cheeked  maidens,  who  were  busy 
wreathing  coronets  for  their  May  Queen.  Bursts  of 
laughter,  and  strains  of  lively  music,  rang  out  upon 
the  air,  fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  early  blossoms. 
Gladness  sat  upon  every  youthful  brow,  and  hap- 
piness upon  each  red  and  smiling  lip;  while  the 
furtive  and  tell-tale  glances  which  stole  from  the 
bright  eyes  of  the  blushing  maidens,  told  much  to 
embolden  the  bashful  swains,  who  dared  not  breath 


154  FRESH     LEAVB 

the  illy-concealed  secret,  which  loot  an(  .me  unwit- 
tingly betrayed. 

The  last  rays  of  the  departing  sun  streamed  upon 
the  festive  scene;  the  brightest,  perhaps,  in  the 
whole  of  merry  England,  which  is  not  now  as  it  was 
then.  For  England  then  was  "merrie  England;" 
when  the  free  and  hardy  outlaws  roamed  through 
the  depths  of  dark  forests ;  when  the  barons  regaled 
their  honest  peasantry  with  staunch  old  ale  and  good 
substantial  beef;  and  when  the  world  boasted  not 
another  such  a  race  as  were  the  hardy  subjects  of 
"  Queen  Bess." 

A  roving  horde  of  Gipsies  were  now  upon  the 
green,  a  short  distance  from  the  revelers,  throwing 
their  tambourines,  jingling  their  silver  bells,  and 
dancing  and  singing  to  the  great  annoyance  of  those 
villagers  who  were  not  engaged  around  the  May-pole. 

A  little  apart  from  the  rest,  was  a  Gipsy  woman, 
apparently  some  twenty-eight  or  thirty  years  of  age, 
though  she  might  have  been  younger.  A  short 
scarlet  cloak,  depending  from  her  shoulder,  together 
with  a  bright  purple  handkerchief,  twisted  around  her 
head,  gave  her  a  singularly  wild  and  fantastic  appear- 
ance. She  was  a  very  handsome  woman,  her  dark 
though  clear  complexion  suiting  well  her  brilliant  eyes 
and  raven  hair. 

Her  form  was  stately,  and  there  was  an  expression 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         155 

of  pride  on  her  still  beautiful  lip.  She  held  a  silver 
lute,  of  rare  and  exquisite  workmanship,  and  the 
fingers  were  taper  and  small,  that  wandered  among 
the  chords,  as  she  sung  a  plaintive  melody  in  a  low 
and  touchingly  sweet  voice. 

Her  only  listener  was  a  child,  about  six  years  of 
age,  habited  as  a  peasant,  though  her  delicate  form 
and  sweet  intellectual  face,  might  well  belie  her 
humble  garb.  The  song  of  the  Gipsy  woman  seem- 
ed to  touch  a  strange  chord  in  her  heart,  for  her 
bright  lips  were  parted  with  the  intenseness  of  feel- 
ing, and  the  light  of  some  new  enthusiasm  was  in 
the  large,  languishing  eyes,  which  were  cast  upon 
the  ground,  as  a  pearly  tear  broke  from  the  long 
lashes  which  shaded  them.  The  woman  too,  seemed 
agitated;  but  she  still  continued  her  low,  sad  melody 
till  she  saw  that  the  feelings  of  the  child  were  wrought 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement,  when,  suddenly 
ceasing,  she  said,  in  tones  of  winning  softness : 

o'  o 

"Come  with  me,  sweet  one,  and  I  will  always  sing 
to  you,  and  this  too,  shall  be  yours,  all  your  own;'* 
and  she  pointed  to  the  lute  which  she  held. 

The  child  looked  wonderingly  upon  the  speaker, 
who  was  smiling  sweetly,  though  in  her  restless  eye 
the  deepest  anxiety  was  depicted,  and  then  turned 
her  gaze  wistfully  upon  the  lute,  whose  notes  had 
so  enchanted  her. 


15(/-  FRESH    LEAVES 

"Isodene!  Isodene!  hast  thou  not  well  nigh  for- 
gotten thy  high  duties  ? "  and  half  a  dozen  smiling 
maidens  approached  and  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
child  the  coronet  of  flowers  which  she  was  to  bint' 
on  the  brow  of  the  May  Queen. 

The  child  turned  away  reluctantly  and  joined  the 
gay  group,  which  in  a  moment  more  were  dancing 
merrily  upon  the  bright  green  sward. 

"  Isodene !  "  repeated  the  woman  slowly  and  mus- 
ingly ;  "  yes,  yes,  it  must  be  so."  Placing  her  hand 
upon  her  brow,  she  remained  for  a  few  moments  in 
deep  thought;  then  arising,  she  approached  a  group 
of  peasantry  who  were  watching  the  progress  of  the 
dance,  and  said, 

"  Can  any  one  tell  me  who  is  yon  dark-eyed  little 
lass,  whom  they  call  Isodene  ?  " 

"  Aye,  that  we  can,"  responded  one  of  their  number. 
"  She  is  the  child  of  our  neighbour  Leiufin,  and  his 
dame  Margary.  A  sweeter,  kinder  little  angel  never 
lived;  and  right  proud  they  are  of  her,  though  some 
do  not  stop  to  say  that  she  is  no  kith  nor  kin  of  theirs. 
And  well  they  might,  for  those  dainty  limbs  and  fairy 
motions  become  not  lowly  blood  like  ours." 

The  Gipsy  woman  appeared  satisfied,  and  turning 
away,  resumed  her  seat  upon  the  smooth,  rich  turf, 
gazing  listlessly  upon  the  blithsome  group  of  revelers 
who  thronged  around  the  May-pole. 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         157 

With  the  first  dawn  of  light,  the  Gipsy  horde 
were  on  their  way,  leaving  the  village  green  still  and 
alone,  which  the  day  before  teemed  with  a  glad  and 
noisy  throng.  But  the  strange  woman  with  the  lute, 
lingered  behind.  Noon  came,  and  she  was  still  in 
the  village,  wandering  around,  though  she  never  lost 
sight  of  the  low-roofed  cottage  where  dwelt  Isodene. 

When  at  length  old  Leinfin  and  his  wife  left  with 
their  little  stock  of  thread  and  vegetables,  which  they 
daily  disposed  of  farther  up  the  village,  the  Gipsy 
woman  approached  the  cottage,  which  was  left  in  the 
care  of  little  Isodene,  and  beckoning  her  to  her,  said, 

"  Come,  pretty  one,  and  sit  beneath  this  tree,  whilst 
I  sing  again  to  you. " 

The  child  approached  the  singing  woman,  and  smil- 
ed as  she  obeyed,  while  the  Gipsy,  touching  the  lute 
first  sang  a  wild,  broken  Gipsy  song.  When  she  had 
finished,  she  placed  her  arm  around  the  child,  and 
drawing  her  towards  her,  asked, 

"  Are  you  fond  of  music,  sweet  one  ?  " 

"  Oh !  very,  very,"  answered  she  enthusiastically ; 
"I  wish  you  would  sing  again  the  song  that  you  sung 
yesterday ;  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  heard  it  before, 
a  long  time  ago,  in  a  dream,  or  sometime — " 

"  Are  your  parents  kind  to  you  ?  "  continued  the 
woman. 

"Oh  yes!  but  sometimes  they  are  very  harsh,  and 

7* 


158  FRESH    LEAVES 

say  that  I  am  not  their  daughter;  afterward  they 
are  pleasant  again,  and  bid  me  not  repeat  what  they 
said  while  they  were  angry.  I  told  you,  because  I 
love  you." 

"Well  dear,  if  you  love  me,  are  you  not  willing 
to  go  with  me  ?  You  shall  have  fine  clothes  and 
see  fine  countries,  and  I  will  always  be  very  land  to 
you,  and  teach  you  to  play  upon  the  lute.  Will 
you  not  go  ?  " 

"  I  love  you  very  much,  and  I  love  the  pretty  lute ; 
but  I  cannot  leave  my  parents." 

Again  the  slender  fingers  of  the  Gipsy  woman 
touched  the  lute,  and  a  low  and  witchingly  sweet  pre- 
lude rose  upon  the  quiet  air.  Then  the  voice  of  the 
player  mingled  with  the  exquisite  strains,  and  swelled 
into  a  fuller  tone  of  harmony,  as  the  broken  words 
of  a  childish  melody,  with  which  mothers  are  wont 
to  quiet  their  children,  rose  upon  the  air.  As  she 
sang,  the  Gipsy's  eye  fell  upon  the  little  Isodene, 
who  had  slid  from  her  embrace,  and  now  lay  crouch- 
ed at  her  feet,  with  quivering  lip  and  tearful  eye, 
her  whole  soul  wrapped  in  the  music  spell  which 
chained  her  senses. 

Stooping  down,  she  smoothed  the  ringlets  from 
the  fair  brow  of  the  child,  as  she  whispered, 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  parents,"  was  the  answer. 


FKOM    WESTERN    WOODS.  159 

A  tear  stood  in  the  Gipsy's  eye,  and  her  hand 
*nd  voice  trembled,  as  she  sang  a  mournful  strain, 
as  of  a  mother  grieving  for  her  lost  child.  It  seem- 
ed to  operate  with  magic  effect  upon  the  heart  of 
little  Isodene,  who  arose,  and  placing  her  hand  in  that 
of  the  woman,  looked  up  confidingly,  as  she  said 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  and  you  shall  be  my  mother." 

"Haste,  then,  sweet  one,  before  your  parents  re- 
turn; and  remember,  you  must  not  be  called  Isodene, 
but  Zaila,  the  Gipsy's  daughter." 

"  And  may  I  not  call  you  mother,  and  may  not 
this  pretty  lute  be  mine  ?  "  said  the  child  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  yes,  every  thing  you  wish.  But  we  must  haste 
from  here  before  your  parents  return,"  was  the  reply. 

It  was  not  without  many  tears,  however,  that  little 
Isodene,  now,  Zaila,  left  for  ever  the  home  of  her 
childhood;  but  she  was  too  young  to  grieve  long, 
and  was  soon  laughing  and  chatting  merrily,  as  she 
ran  by  the  side  of  her  new-found  friend.  Never 
having  been  far  from  the  cottage  of  her  parents, 
every  thing  she  beheld  was  full  of  interest,  and  it  was 
with  childish  delight  and  eagerness,  that  she  chased 
the  gay  butterflies,  or  plucked  the  fair  flowers  which 
brightened  her  path.  Occupied  with  every  thing 
around,  she  felt  not  the  fatigue  of  her  long  walk,  till 
twilight  appeared,  and  her  conductress  still  journey- 
ed on.  As  the  darkness  increased,  she  crept  closer 


360  FRESH     LEAVES 

to  the  side  of  the  Gipsy,  and  clasping  her  hand  tighter, 
said, 

"  Dear  mother,  I  am  very  tired  and  lonely ;  I  wish 
we  could  be  there  now ;  do  n't  you  ?  " 
"  Be  where,  child  ?  " 

"To  our  new  home  hi  the  green  woods,  where 
every  thing  is  pretty." 

"  Well,  sweet  one,  we  soon  shall  be,"  replied  the 
Gipsy;  but  finding  that  sleep  was* overpowering  the 
wearied  child,  she  took  her  in  her  arms,  where  she 
soon  fell  into  a  gentle  slumber. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  picture  the  grief  of  old  Lein- 
fin  and  his  wife,  when  search  for  their  child  proved 
unavailing;  nor  how  the  memory  of  the  sweet  and 
gentle  little  Isodene  lingered  hi  the  hearts  of  the  hon- 
est villagers,  but  follow  her  new  fortunes  as  those  of 
Zaila  the  Gipsy. 

When  Zaila  awoke,  she  found  herself  lying  upon  a 
pallet  spread  on  the  ground,  over  which  was  erected 
a  tent  to  shield  her  from  the  night  dew.  The  tears 
came  into  her  eyes  at  the  thought  of  the  pleasant  home 
she  had  forsaken;  but  the  remembrance  of  the  lute 
and  kind  face  of  her  Gipsy  mother,  soon  banished 
them,  and  creeping  to  the  opening  of  the  tent,  where 
she  heard  voices,  looked  out  Mute  with  wonder,  she 
gized  upon  the  curious  and  mixed  up  scene  before 
V.r.  The  whole  band  of  Gipsies  which  she  had  seen 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  161 

upon  the  green  the  day  before,  were  collected  there  in 
the  dim  forest  Large  fires  were  casting  their  flicker- 
ing light  around;  and,  while  some  of  the  women 
were  busy  preparing  for  a  feast  the  many  delicacies 
which  they  had  stolen  from  the  country  roundabout, 
the  rest  of  the  party  were  drinking,  singing,  dancing, 
and  indulging  in  every  species  of  boisterous  mirth. 
The  child  shrank  back,  for  their  rude  revelry,  and 
wild,  uncouth  look*s  frightened  her,  and  called  hi  a 
low,  half-fearful  tone,  for  her  mother. 

In  a  moment  the  watchful  Gipsy  was  by  her  side, 
soothing  her  with  kind  words,  and,  having  first  brought 
to  her  a  plate  of  dainty  food,  she  folded  her  arms 
about  her,  and  lay  down  to  sleep. 

When  Zaila  next  awoke,  the  sun  was  shining  in 
cheerily  at  the  tent  door.  Her  mother  had  arisen', 
and  was  busy  preparing  a  suit  of  Gipsy  apparel  for 
her  little  charge.  When  she  had  attired  her  in  these, 
and  stained  her  skin  of  a  darker  hue  with  the  juice  of 
a  nut  which  she  carried  with  her,  the  Gipsy  led  Zaila 
to  the  banks  of  a  little  lake  near  which  they  were  en- 
camped, and  bade  her  view  herself  in  its  clear  depths. 
"  And  how  does  my  sweet  daughter  like  her  Gipsy 
looks  ?  "  said  the  woman,  as  she  smoothed  back  the 
silken  ringlets  from  Zaila's  brow,  and  tied  a  large 
straw  hat  upon  her  head,  bidding  her  run  and  gather 
flowers  to  form  a  wreath  for  it 


162  FRESH     LEAVES 

The  scenery  around  was  wild  and  beautiful,  and 
the  heart  of  the  child  leaped  for  joy  as  she  bounded 
down  into  the  green  hollow  to  pluck  the  sweet  blos- 
soms, upon  which  the  dew  was  yet  glistening. 

It  was  strange  with  what  a  yearning  tenderness 
and  fond  anxiety,  the  Gipsy  woman  watched  over  the 
child  of  her  adoption ;  how  she  studied  each  look,  and 
motion  with  most  affectionate  solicitude,  and  shielded 
her  from  every  blight  which  might  fall  upon  her. 
Not  a  rude  jest  or  coarse  remark,  did  she  ever  allow 
to  be  uttered  in  the  presence  of  the  gentle  child,  who 
was  looked  upon  as  a  visitant  angel,  by  the  wild  and 
uncultivated  creatures  who  formed  the  tribe.  Nor 
was  the  lute  woman,  as  they  called  her,  regarded 
with  less  veneration,  her  word  being  law,  and  the 
same  reverence  being  paid  to  her  that  they  would  pay 
to  a  superior  being.  Zaila  was  learned  to  be  an  ar- 
dent admirer  of  nature,  for  the  Gipsy  woman  never 
failed  to  point  out  each  half-hidden  beauty,  and  lovely 
tint  of  the  surpassingly  beautiful  scenes  through  which 
they  daily  passed.  The  music  of  the  birds  and  trees 
and  breezes,  filled  her  heart  with  delight,  and  she 
never  tired  of  gazing  upon  the  softened  loveliness  of 
meadow  and  brook,  or  the  lofty  grandeur  of  rocks, 
cataracts,  and  towering  mountains.  Thus  did  she 
grow  up  with  a  warm  and  imaginative  heart;  the 
most  delicate  fancy  and  finest  sensibility ;  a  pure  and 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  163 

lovely  being,  full  of  gentle  sympathies  and  kindly 
impulses. 

The  passion  for  music  which  she  had  shown  when 
she  first  heard  the  song  of  her  she  now  called  mother, 
had  grown  into  perfect  enthusiasm.  Assisted  by  the 
instruction  of  her  mother,  she  was  soon  able  to  call 
forth  the  most  soft  and  exquisite  strains  from  the  lute, 
which  was  now  resigned  to  her.  She  also  possessed 
an  uncommonly  sweet  voice,  which  daily  cultivation 
had  brought  to  a  still  greater  degree  of  perfection. 

As  the  graces  of  Zaila's  mind,  so  did  those  of  her 
person  each  day  more  fully  develop,  till,  at  length, 
when  she  reached  the  years  of  maidenhood,  a  creature 
of  more  perfect  loveliness  could  scarcely  be  imagined. 

Always  attired  in  some  wild  yet  tasteful  way,  with 
her  long  raven  tresses  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  her 
lute  in  her  hand,  she  looked  like  some  sylph  of  the 
wildwood  come  to  weave  her  spell  of  enchantment 
and  vanish.  Her  eyes,  of  the  darkest  possible  hue, 
were  large  and  languishingly  soft;  all  the  depth  and 
tenderness  of  her  nature  beaming  through  the  silken 
lashes  which  shaded  them,  and  laid  upon  the  rich 
color  of  her  cheek,  as  the  dark  fringe  of  a  pearl-cloud 
canopy  lays  upon  the  glowing  bosom  of  sunset.  Her 
beautifully-formed  mouth,  ever  wreathed  with  pride 
or  tenderness,  gave  a  spirited  expression  to  the  sweet 
repose  of  her  classic  features.  Hands  and  feet  of 


164  FRESH    LEAVES 

fairy  delicacy  belonged  to  a  slight  but  exquisitely-pro- 
portioned form,  which  bent  into  a  thousand  graceful 
attitudes,  with  the  play  of  her  fancy,  as  the  gentle  wild- 
flower  bends  to  the  breath  of  the  evening  zephyrs. 

Proud,  indeed,  was  the  smile  in  the  eye  of  the 
mother,  as  she  gazed  upon  this  child  of  her  adoption, 
whose  beauty  and  goodness  well  repaid  her  devotei? 
and  idolizing  love.  Wandering,  as  they  were,  amid 
new  and  strange  scenes,  Zaila  gradually  forgot  those 
of  her  early  childhood,  or  if  ever  a  dim  recollection 
of  the  past  came  upon  her  mind,  the  suggestion  of 
her  parent,  that  it  was  some  half-remembered  dream 
of  other  days,  satisfied  her. 

The  fame  of  the  wondrous  loveliness  and  talent 
of  the  young  Gipsy  singer  had  spread  over  half  of 
Europe;  the  door  of  prince  and  peasant  was  willingly 
thrown  open  to  her. 

In  one  of  their  rambles  through  England,  the  Gipsy 
horde,  to  which  Zaila  was  attached,  encamped  near 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  stately  castles  in  the 
country.  A  message  was  sent  for  the  singer  and  her 
lute  to  appear  at  the  castle.  Against  her  usual  cus- 
tom, Zaila's  mother  refused  to  accompany  her,  and 
not  till  she  heard  that  the  lord  of  the  castle  was 
absent,  would  she  approach. 

When  they  arrived,  they  were  shown  from  the 
grand  entrance-hall  into  an  elegant  apartment  fitted 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  165 

up  as  a  lady's  boudoir.  Fountains,  whose  showers 
of  snow-wreathed  spray  gave  a  delicious  coolness  to 
the  air  ;  exotics,  of  the  most  beautiful  forms  and 
brilliant  colors;  rare  singing-  birds  of  gorgeous  plu- 
mage ;  books,  in  richly  bound  and  glittering  vellum ; 
everything  in  the  most  splendid  and  costly  profusion, 
served  to  make  it  a  little  paradise  of  luxury. 

Before  the  entrance  of  those  whom  they  were  to 
entertain,  the  Gipsy  took  the  lute  from  Zaila's  hand, 
and  sang  the  same  plaintive  melody  that  won  the 
heart  of  little  Isodene,  now  her  child.  While  she 
was  singing,  Zaila  seated  herself  upon  an  ottoman 
at  her  feet,  and,  with  her  hand  upon  her  brow,  re- 
mained in  deep  thought.  When  the  song  was  fin- 
ished, she  looked  up  into  her  mother's  face  — 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  it  must  be  a  strange  fancy  of 
mine,  but  there  comes  upon  my  memory,  like  the  vis- 
ion of  a  dream,  the  remembrance  of  a  scene  like  this ; 
with  a  fond,  and  tender,  and  beautiful  being  hanging 
over  me,  humming  the  very  words  which  you  have 
just  concluded.  And  her  face  was  like  yours,  dear 
mother,  only  younger  and  lovelier;  there  was  a  tall, 
noble-looking  man,  too,  who  ever  had  kind  words  and 
smiles  for  you  and  me.  It  is  very  strange,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Pooh !  child,  it  is  only  your  romantic  dreamings ; 
you  must  not  indulge  in  them,"  said  the  woman,  but 
her  face  was  pale  and  agitated. 


166  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  But  mother — "  here  Zaila  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  a  lovely  girl,  a  fitting  occupant  for  the 
splendid  apartment  which  seemed  to  be  her  home. 

"  Shall  I  sing  of  love  or  romance,  fair  lady  ?  "  said 
Zaila,  running  her  finger  lightly  over  her  lute-strings. 

"  It  were  the  only  subject  worthy  our  attention;  for 
war's  sounding  themes  better  befit  the  hardier  sex," 
said  the  lady,  smiling. 

And  Zaila  sung  a  ballad,  entitled  "  Love  and  Beau- 
ty," in  which  she  adroitly  mingled  a  few  compliments 
to  the  listener. 

With  expressions  of  admiration  at  the  perfection  of 
the  singer  in  her  art,  the  lady  drew  a  ring  from  her 
finger,  and  placed  it  upon  Zaila's,  childishly  toying 
with  the  small  hand  which  was  held  out  to  her. 

"  Are  you  the  wife  of  Count  Lelingford,  the  lord 
of  this  castle  ?  "  said  the  Gipsy,  as  they  were  about 
withdrawing. 

This  was  said  in  a  careless  tone,  but  there  was  a 
wild  anxiety  in  the  look  of  the  speaker,  that  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  lady  as  she  replied, "  that  she  was 
only  his  neice." 

The  Gipsy  moved  away,  muttering,  "  Not  yet,  not 
yet,  but  the  time  shall  come — "  and,  suddenly  check- 
ing herself,  she  turned,  with  a  forced  smile,  to  the 
lady,  apologizing  for  her  inquisitiveness. 

A  short  time  after  this,  as  their  encampment  was 


FROM   WESTERN    WOODS.  167 

fixed  on  the  border  of  a  forest,  Zaila  took  her  lute 
to  wander  as  was  her  wont,  in  search  of  flowers.  At- 
tracted by  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  she  wandered 
on,  heedless  of  the  distance,  till  suddenly  she  emerged 
into  a  scene  of  such  wild  loveliness,  as  chained  her 
spellbound  to  the  spot.  On  one  side,  a  huge  mass  of 
black,  towering  rocks  rose  up  against  the  bright,  blue 
sky,  and,  from  their  topmost  heights,  there  dashed  a 
roaring  cataract,  which,  leaping  from  crag  to  crag, 
whirled  round  and  round  as  it  reached  the  bottom, 
dashing  the  feathery  spray  high  in  the  air,  and  then 
glided  smoothly  on  into  the  bosom  of  a  silvery  stream 
which  wound  through  a  little  glen,  whose  rich  turf 
was  spotted  with  wild  flowers.  The  bright  sun,  which 
was  just  peeping  out  from  beneath  a  dark  cloud  in 
the  western  horizon,  threw  his  glittering  beams  upon 
the  rock,  changing  the  tumbling  waters  and  white 
spray  into  a  thousand  varying  tints  of  rainbow  splen- 
dor. But  there  was  one  object,  in  that  wild  and  beau- 
tiful scene,  that  Zaila  noticed  not.  Concealed  from 
sight  by  a  huge  tree,  stood  a  young  courtier,  attired 
as  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  and  arrow  flung  upon  the 
ground,  and  his  faithful  dog  lying  at  his  feet.  He, 
too,  had  been  admiring  the  landscape,  but,  when  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  lovely  Gipsy,  all  else  was  forgotten, 
With  hands  clasped  in  delight,  and  her  red  lips  parted, 
she  stood  gazing  upon  the  brilliant  scene. 


168  FRESH     LEAVES 

Her  hat  was  off  and  hanging  on  her  arm,  and  her 
nnconfined  tresses  floated  like  a  shadowy  vail  around 
her  slight  figure,  some  of  them  even  kissing  the  dainty 
foot,  half  buried  in  the  bright,  green  turf.  The  warm 
sunset  heightened  the  bright  vermilion  of  her  cheek, 
and  the  soft  sparkle  of  her  liquid  eye,  while  nothing 
could  equal  the  attitude  of  untaught  grace  in  which 
she  stood. 

But  suddenly  was  Zaila's  rapt  contemplation  broken 
in  upon,  for  an  enormous  wild  boar  came  bounding 
through  a  neighboring  thicket,  and  rushed  directly  to- 
ward her.  A  single  shriek  broke  from  her  lips,  and, 
dropping  lute  and  flowers,  she  stood  still  with  affright, 
while  the  raging  animal  neared  her  at  each  frantic 
bound.  Pale  and  motionless  as  a  statue,  her  feelings 
we're  too  powerfully  excited  to  allow  her  to  seek  re- 
lief in  insensibility  or  flight.  An  age  seemed  to  be 
condensed  in  the  moment  that  elapsed,  before  an  ar- 
row, sent  with  unerring  aim,  pierced  the  heart  of  the 
monster,  and  laid  him  dead  upon  the  ground.  In  a 
few  moments,  and  recovering  from  her  fright,  she 
was  gathering  up  her  fallen  flowers,  when  the  young 
hunter  presented  himself  before  her. 

"And  is  it  to  you,  Sir  Knight  of  the  Bow  and 
Arrow,  that  I  am  indebted  for  my  gallant  rescue  ?  " 
she  said,  gracefully  presenting  her  hand  hi  token  of 
her  gratitude. 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  169 

"  Happy,  indeed,  am  I,"  replied  he,  removing  his 
plumed  cap,  "  if  my  poor  hand  has  been  of  any  ser- 
vice to  such  a  beautiful  maiden  as  thou;  and  shall 
pay  a  due  meed  of  thanks  to  that  kind  fortune  which 
has  procured  a  tribute  of  gratitude  from  such  sweet 
lips.  But,  surely,  thou  wouldst  have  been  taken  for 
the  goddess  of  this  fair  spot,  with  silver  lute  and 
flower-garlands,  had  not  thy  shriek  betrayed  that 
thou  wert  of  mortal  mould." 

"  Nay,  sir  Knight,  no  sylph  of  the  wildwood, 
but  plain  Zaila,  the  Gipsy  singer.  Now,  who  art 
thou?" 

"  Henry,  the  Hunter  of  the  Forest,"  he  said,  smil- 
ing at  her  simplicity ;  "  but,  if  thou  art  the  wondrous 
Gipsy  singer,  I  have  a  request  to  make." 

"  Oh !  a  song  of  course,"  said  Zaila,  and,  seating 
herself  at  the  foot  of  a  gnarled  and  twisted  oak,  she 
threw  off  her  hat  and  tuned  the  lute. 

As  strain  after  strain  of  the  sweet  gushing  melody 
quivered  among  the  strings,  and,  rising,  was  echoed 
by  tree  and  rock,  mingling  with  the  dash  of  the  cat- 
aract and  murmur  of  the  brook,  she  forgot  time,  and 
place,  and  listener,  in  the  delight  of  her  theme. 

And  there  stood  the  young  hunter,  rapt  as  was  she, 
in  gazing  upon  the  face  of  the  beautiful  enthusiast  —  in 
whose  cheek  the  color  was  brightening,  as  the  silken 
lashes  rested  tremblingly  upon  its  rich  velvet,  or, 


170  FRESH     LEAVES 

raising,  revealed  the  liquid  light  of  the  eye,  whose 
earnest  gaze  seemed  asking  a  new  chord  of  melody 
from  the  music  choirs  of  heaven. 

As  she  arose  from  her  seat  on  the  turf,  Zaila's  eye 
encountered  the  respectful  but  admiring  gaze  of  the 
hunter,  and  a  blush  suffused  her  brow  and  bosom, 
and  her  glance  sought  the  ground,  as  she  strove  to 
conceal  her  embarrassment,  by  dallying  with  the  rib- 
bon on  her  hat 

"  The  slender  fingers  of  many  a  high-born  dame 
and  noble  lady  have  I  seen  wandering  among  the 
lute-strings;  but  no  hand  was  so  delicate  as  thine, 
nor  strains  so  divinely  sweet,"  he  said,  in  tones  of 
undisguised  admiration. 

Used,  as  she  was,  to  praise  and  flattery,  his  tones 
thrilled  her  heart  with  new  and  undefined  emotions, 
and,  in  her  agitation,  she  dropped  her  hat  at  his  feet 
In  a  moment,  he  was  on  his  knee  before  her,  present- 
ing it  to  her;  but  not  till  he  had  disengaged  the  rib- 
bon which  bound  it,  and,  with  her  flowers,  placed  them 
in  his  bosom.  This  action  brought  all  Zaila's  self-pos- 
session to  her  aid,  and,  with  flashing  eye  and  haughty 
tone,  she  demanded  that  which  he  had  taken. 

"  Nay,  fair  maiden,  I  meant  thee  no  offence ;  but 
surely  I  shall  be  compelled  to  disbelieve  thy  profes- 
sion of  gratitude,  if  thou  dost  still  refuse  so  slight  a 
token  of  remembrance  to  one  who  loves  thce  wholly. 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  l7l 

For,  here  on  my  bended  knees,  I  swear  that  no  other 
image  than  —  " 

He  ceased,  for  she,  to  whom  he  was  pouring  forth 
his  ardent  vows,  was  bounding  lightly  away,  gaily 
singing  — 

"  I  'ra  a  merry,  merry  Gipsy  lass, 

And  no  other  would  I  be. 
Nor  king,  nor  titled  courtier, 
Shall  breathe  his  vows  to  me." 

So,  taking  his  bows  and  arrows,  he  departed,  to 
dream  of  the  lovely  enchantress  who  had  woven  her 
spell  around  the  chain  of  his  destiny. 

But,  though  Zaila  thus  lightly  fled  from  the  vows 
of  the  handsome  and  noble-looking  courtier,  yet  she 
could  not  so  easily  cast  his  image  from  her  mind ;  for 
hers  was  a  heart  overflowing  with  the  wealth  of  young 
and  ardent  affections,  and  which  could  not  be  content- 
ed with  the  love  of  a  parent,  idolizing  though  it  was. 
So,  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  words  and  looks  of  one 
like  him,  should  open  a  new  fountain  in  her  heart, 
whose  pure  and  holy  waters  should  never  cease  to 
gush  forth  with  a  sad  and  mournful  music.  Zaila 
knew  that  his  rank  was  far  above  hers,  and  that, 
probably,  long  before  this,  he  had  ceased  to  think 
of  the  humble  songstress  of  the  grove.  Still  was  the 
remembrance  of  him  ever  clouding  the  sunshine  of 
her  heart,  till  her  soft  cheek  grew  more  transparent, 


172  FRESH    LEAVES 

her  fawn-like  step  less  agile,  and  the  languishing  light 
in  her  dark  eye  more  earnest  and  tremblingly  tearful ; 
yet  was  she  but  more  spiritually  beautiful.  At  last 
the  sad  music  which  was  trembling  on  her  heart- 
strings formed  itself  into  words,  and  was  breathed 
from  her  lips  in  numbers  of  pensive  and  mournful 
sweetness.  Then,  indeed,  did  every  heart  acknowl- 
edge the  wondrous  powers  of  the  lovely  songstress; 
but  she  heeded  not  their  praise,  and  only  longed  to 
be  free  from  their  flatteries. 

The  Gipsy  woman  could  not  but  note  the  sorrow 
that  was  preying  upon  her  child ;  and,  when  at  length 
she  won  from  the  blushing  maiden  the  confession  of 
her  love,  she  replied — 

"  Aye,  aye,  the  time  will  come,  when  he  shall  bJ 
proud  to  claim  thee  as  his  bride !  it  will  not  be  long 
till  the  fulfillment  of  that  for  which  I  have  so  long 
suffered." 

Zaila  looked  with  wonder  upon  her  parent  as  she 
said  this;  but  she  questioned  her  not,  for  she  felt 
that  her  destiny,  perhaps,  was  to  be  a  strange  one, 
and  the  dim  recollection  of  a  thousand  long-past  in- 
cidents crowded  upon  her  mind. 

And  now  there  came  a  message  from  the  queen, 
requesting  Zaila  to  be  present  at  court,  and  give  a 
concert  to  the  assembled  nobles  of  the  land.  Great 
as  was  the  distinction,  Zaila  would  fain  have  declined 


FllOM    WESTERN    WOODS.  173 

the  invitation,  had  not  her  mother  bade  her  accept  it 
Wiibi  her  own  hand,  her  mother  attired  her  for  the 
festival,  and,  as  she  fastened  the  last  rich  braid  of 
hair  in  its  place,  whispered  — 

"  You  will  not  return  the  same  as  you  are  now." 
Zaila  replied  not,  save  by  an  inquiring  glance,  and 
departed  with  a  secret  hope  of  seeing  the  young  hun- 
ter who  had  saved  her  life. 

The  spacious  and  lofty  musician's  hah1  was  filled 
with  the  noblest  personages  of  the  land;  but  there 
was  no  haughty  "  ladie  "  present,  whose  proud  lip 
deigned  not  to  bestow  a  meed  of  praise  upon  the 
youthful  songstress,  as  she  timidly  entered,  and  was 
led,  with  downcast  dyes,  into  the  presence  of  the 
queen.  Never,  perhaps,  had  she  looked  so  exquis- 
itely lovely,  as  when  she  blushingly  received  the  to- 
ken of  the  queen's  favor,  in  the  shape  of  a  magnificent 
diamond  bracelet,  which  her  majesty  clasped  with  her 
own  hands  upon  her  small  wrist  A  robe  of  crimson 
velvet  set  off  her  dark  complexion  and  graceful  form 
to  the  utmost  advantage;  while  her  raven  tresses, 
which  usually  fell  in  rich  profusion  on  her  swan-like 
neck,  were  parted  into  glossy  braids,  and  negligently 
fastened  by  a  gold  pin.  Her  rounded  arms  were  bare, 
being  shaded  only  by  a  pall  of  richly-worked  lace, 
and  her  tiny  foot  was  thrust  into  a  dainty  slipper  of 

embroidered  satin. 
8 


174  FRBSH     LEAVES 

When  Zaila  seated  herself,  she  glanced  inquiringly 
around  in  search  of  a  never-to-be-forgotten  one ;  but 
the  face  of  the  young  hunter  greeted  her  not,  and, 
with  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  she  turned  to  her 
lute.  If  expressions  of  admiration  had  not  been 
murmured  before,  when  her  slender  fingers  -wandered 
among  the  lute-strings,  calling  forth  the  most  thrill- 
ing strains  of  witching  melody,  and  mingling  with 
them  the  soft,  clear  tones  of  her  sweet  voice,  then 
it  was  that  their  power  could  be  traced  in  the  still 
and  scarcely-breathing  auditory.  But,  when  voice  and 
lute  ceased,  a  perfect  shower  of  applause,  and  clap- 
ping of  tiny  hands,  and  throwing  of  flowers,  might 
have  rivaled  a  like  scene  in  a  Parisian  theater. 

While  Zaila  was  singing,  a  de.ep  groan  sounded 
through  the  hall,  and  a  nobleman,  who  had  just  en- 
tered, fell  insensible  into  the  arms  of  his  servants,  and 
was  borne  off. 

In  the  confusion  which  followed,  Zaila  heard  the 
name  of  "  Count  Lelingford  "  frequently  mentioned ; 
but,  though  it  sounded  familiar  to  her,  she  could  not 
recollect  where  she  had  heard  it 

The  company  had  departed  from  the  musician's 
hall,  and  Zaila  was  in  one  of  the  suites  of  rooms  be- 
longing to  the  maids  of  honor,  who  were  curiously 
questioning  her,  and  praising  her  performance,  when 
a  servant  entered  and  said,  that  the  Count  Lelingford 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  175 

requested  a  private  interview  with  the  Gipsy  singer, 
who  had  been  performing  in  the  concert  halL  Full 
of  conjectures,  Zaila  entered  his  presence,  and  the 
first  glance  at  his  face  doubled  her  doubts,  for  -the 
face  seemed  .as  familiar  as  the  name. 

"  Thy  name  ?  "  said  he,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

"  Zaila,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Hast  thou  any  parents  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  mother." 

"  And  what  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Our  tribe  call  her  the  Lute  Woman." 

"  Thou  sayest  thou  art  a  Gipsy ;  wast  always  one  ?  " 

"  'T  is  so  my  parent  tells  me." 

"  Thou  canst  not  then  remember  of  being  other 
than  thou  art  now  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  there  comes  a  vague  remembrance  of 
a  quiet  village,  and  lovely  cottage  home,  and  of  a 
Gipsy  enticing  me  away  with  the  music  of  her  lute. 
But  my  mother  says  't  is  but  a  dream." 

As  Zaila  said  this,  the  agitation  of  the  count  in- 
creased to  such  a  degree,  that  it  was  with  a  scarcely- 
audible  voice  he  asked  — 

"  And  that,  then,  is  all  thou  knowest  of  it  ?  " 

"  Some  months  ago,  we  were  traveling  in  the  north 
of  England,  when  we  paused  at  a  lofty  castle.  The 
lord  of  the  domain  was  absent,  but  I  remember  of 
my  mother  asking  a  very  lovely  lady  who  invited  us 


176  FRESH    LEAVES 

there,  if  she  were  his  wife.  I  knew  that  while  we 
were  there  the  place  seemed  familiar  to  me,  as  one 
which  I  sometimes  dream  of  as  having  been  the  home 
of  my  infancy;  and  immediately  there  came  upon  me 
the  recollection  of  a  beautiful  and  richly-dressed  lady, 
who  hung  over  me  with  all  a  mother's  fondness,  and 
of  a  proud  and  stately  man,  who  was  all  kindness  to 
her  and  me.  The  moment  I  beheld  your  face,  the 
scene  at  the  castle  was  brought  to  my  mind,  for, 
surely,  it  is  like  his  who  called  me  daughter.  It  is 
very  strange  that  such  foolish  fancies  will  present 
themselves  to  me ;  my  parent  frowns  when  I  repeat 
them." 

"  Who  —  where  is  she  —  thy  mother  ?  "  hurriedly 
uttered  the  count  "  Pardon  me,  but  was  she  ever 
kind  to  thee?" 

"  My  mother,  though  cold  and  distant  to  others,  has 
ever  been  the  kindest  and  most  idolizing  of  parents. 
And,  though  sometimes  gloomy  and  abstracted,  yet 
was  she  ever  gentle  to  me ;  and  never  did  she  dispute 
my  will  save  once.  That  was,  that  I  should  attend 
the  concert  this  evening.  In  this,  she  seemed  to  have 
some  especial  object,  for  she  selected  my  attire,  and 
bade  me  wear  it  Before  I  left,  she  opened  a  small 
box  which  I  had  never  before  seen,  and  took  from 
thence  this  chain  and  miniature,  which  she  placed 
around  my  neck,  and  this  ring  upon  my  finger." 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  l 

"  Let  me  see  the  ring,"  said  the  count 

Zaila  drew  it  from  her  finger,  and  handed  it  to  him. 
It  was  a  plain  gold  ring,  on  the  inside  of  which  was 
inscribed  the  word  "  Isodene."  ' 

"  God  of  heaven,  it  is  too  true  !  My  wife  !  my 
child!  "  and  Count  Lelingford  fell  back  upon  his  chair, 
and  would  have  again  sunk  into  insensibility,  had  not 
Zaila  hastily  summoned  a  servant  with  cordials. 

Upon  the  restoration  of  the  count,  he  ordered  the 
servants  to  withdraw,  and,  when  they  were  again 
alone,  exclaiming 

"  0,  Isodene!  my  own  —  my  long-lost  child!"  he 
threw  his  arms  around  her,  and  pressed  her  to  his 
bosom. 

"  Thy  child  ?  "  said  the  perplexed  and  wondering 
Zaila. 

"  Yes,  Isodene,  't  is  true ;  thou  art  my  child,  and 
she,  thy  Gipsy  mother,  is  my  wife.  Come,  sit  by  me, 
and  I  will  tell  thee  all." 

Mechanically  did  Zaila  obey,  and  the  count  com- 
menced — 

"  I  shall  not  long  dwell  upon  the  scenes  of  my 
youth.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  was  ever  haughty 
and  passionate ;  the  hatred  and  fear  of  those  school- 
mates whom  I  considered  below  me  in  wealth  or  rank, 
and  over  whom  I  delighted  to  exercise  that  power 
which,  as  a  son  of  a  count,  I  felt  myself  authorized 


178  FRESH 


to  claim.  But,  among  my  classmates,  there  was  one 
to  whom  I  was  sincerely  attached,  and  whom  I  felt 
to  be  my  equal  in  every  respect  His  name  was  Ed- 
ward, the  young  Dukfe  of  Elmainge.  When  we  had 
finished  our  education,  we  set  out  together  on  a  tour 
through  Europe.  The  second  country  which  we  vis- 
ited was  Spain,  and  there  we  became  acquainted  with 
the  beautiful  daughter  of  one  of  Spain's  proudest 
nobles.  Never,  before,  had  my  eyes  rested  upon  so 
lovely  and  fascinating  a  creature  as  was  Isodene,  only 
daughter  of  Don  Elverado,  the  most  powerful  noble 
in  the  Spanish  court  The  first  time  we  met  was  at 
a  masquerade,  given  by  her  father;  and,  before  the 
evening  was  half  over,  her  beauty  and  grace  had 
completely  captivated  me. 

"  We  met  again,  and  I  found  that  my  love  was 
returned.  Half  phrenzied  with  joy,  I  sought  her 
father's  consent  to  our  union,  but  the  haughty  noble- 
man gave  me  a  decided  negative.  This  was  indeed 
a  damper  to  our  hopes;  but,  determined  that  Isodene 
should  be  mine,  I  persuaded  her  to  elope.  For  the 
sake  of  my  love,  she  left  her  country,  home,  and 
friends,  taking  only  her  lute,  which  was  the  gift  of 
her  dead  mother. 

"  My  friend  journeyed  on,-  while  I,  proud  of  'my 
beautiful  bride,  returned  home,  and  spent  a  season 
at  court,  whon,  my  father  having  died,  we  retired  tc 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.        179 

his  country-seat  It  was  the  castle  you  spoke  of  as 
having  visited.  Here  did  I  and  my  sweet  bride  spend 
four  of  the  happiest  years  that  ever  blessed  the  life 
of  mortals.  Surrounded  with  books,  and  birds,  and 
flowers,  and  with  her  cherished  lute,  myself,  and  her 
infant,  for  companions,  my  wife's  heart  seemed  con- 
stantly thrilling  with  rapturous  delight  I,  too,  was 
equally  happy.  Her  purity  and  goodness  seemed  to 
have  dispelled  all  my  evil  disposition,  and  gave  room 
only  for  the  exhibition  of  the  good  qualities  which  I 
possessed. 

"  At  length  my  friend  returned  from  foreign  coun- 
tries, and  his  first  act  was  to  seek  out  the  little  para- 
dise of  which  I  had  sent  him  a  most  glowing  descrip- 
tion. You  were  then  about  three  years  old,  and  the 
very  picture  of  your  mother.  Being  warmly  wel- 
comed, my  friend  prolonged  his  stay  at  the  castle 
from  weeks  to  months,  till  he  had  almost  become 
one  of  our  little  circle.  He  was  always  paying  the 
most  devoted  attention  and  gallantries  to  my  wife, 
who  received  them  as  coming  from  her  husband's 
friend,  and  in  that  light  it  was  that  I  also  viewed 
them.  Gradually  did  Elmainge  advance  hints  as  to 
the  sincerity  of  my  wife  in  her  professions  of  devo- 
tion to  me;  and  alluding  to  the  favor  which  she  had 
shown  him  previous  to  our  marriage.  Finding  that  I 
repelled  his  insinuations  with  indignation,  he  desisted 


180  FRESH    LEAVES 

for  the  time;  but  not  till  he  had  aroused  not  only 
jealousy  toward  my  wife,  but  hatred  toward  him.  At 
length  he  advanced,  seemingly,  plausible  proofs  of  the 
perfidy  of  her  whom  I  had  esteemed  as  almost  an 
angel,  and  then,  like  a  coward  as  he  was,  he  fled  from 
my  presence.  Improbable  as  it  would  have  seemed 
in  my  calmer  moments,  I  then  believed  that  my  wife 
had  never  loved  me,  but  had  wedded  me  with  her 
affections  fixed  upon  'another. 

"  In  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  I  sought  her  apartment, 
and  charged  her  with  perfidy.  Terrified  at  my  furi- 
ous aspect,  and  horror-struck  at  the  charges  made 
against  her,  she  fell  insensible  at  my  feet  When 
she  awoke  to  recollection,  she  defended  herself  with 
all  the  truth  of  artless  innocence ;  but,  too  enraged  to 
listen  to  anything,  I  bade  her  begone.  Now  was  all 
the  haughtiness  of  her  Spanish  blood  aroused;  and 
turning  proudly,  and  without  a  tear,  she  took  her 
child,  and  was  about  to  depart;  but,  determined  that 
she  should  be  fully  punished,  I  snatched  you  from 
her  arms,  and  again  bade  her  go.  All  a  mother's 
tenderness  rushed  upon  her  heart,  and,  for  the  sake 
of  her  child,  she  deigned  to  kneel  at  my  feet  and  beg, 
with  tears  and  entreaties,  for  her  sweet,  her  only 
child  —  but  I  was  unyielding.  She  then  asked  for 
her  lute,  wlu'ch  I  gave  her,  and  she  departed  for  ever. 
Determined  that  the  child  of  one  like  her  shou'd 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  181 

never  be  called  my  daughter,  I  had  you  carried  to  a 
peasant,  whom  I  paid  liberally  for  taking  care  of  you; 
hoping  that,  as  his  child,  you  would  be  happier  than 
as  heir  to  misery  and  rank.  Broken-hearted  and  des- 
olate, with  all  my  visions  of  happiness  crushed  at  a 
blow,  I  strove,  by  a  life  of  gayety  and  dissipation,  to 
lose  the  keen  sense  of  my  misery.  It  was  not  long 
till  thoughts  of  my  rashness,  in  judging  my  wife  thus 
hastily,  forced  themselves  upon  my  mind;  and,  with 
them  came  the  conviction  of  her  innocence.  At  thir 
time,  I  received  word  from  Elmainge,  stating  that  thf 
whole  story  which  he  had  told  me  was  falsehood ;  tha 
he  had  seen  and  loved  the  beautiful  Isodene;  and 
that,  maddened  because  she  preferred  me,  he  had 
devised  this  plan  to  destroy  our  happiness.  When  I 
received  this  information,  I  was  carried  insensible  to 
my  bed,  and  only  awoke  to  such  wretchedness  as 
words  cannot  describe. 

"  The  image  of  my  gentle,  suffering,  deserted  wife, 
thrust  from  her  home,  her  child,  and  happiness  for 
ever,  was  always  before  my  mind.  I  hastened,  as 
soon  as  I  was  able  to  leave  my  bed,  for  you,  deter- 
mined at  least  to  do  justice  to  her  child.  But,  as  if 
fortune  had  deserted  me,  my  daughter  had  disap- 
peared but  a  few  days  before  :  supposed  to  have 
been  stolen  by  a  band  of  Gipsies. 

"  I  have  never  known  a  peaceful  moment  since.     It 

8* 


182  FRESH     LEAVES 

was  your  great  resemblance  to  your  mother,  that  led 
to  this  discovery  this  evening. 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  mother,  dear  Isodene,  even 
now,  and  on  my  knees  will  I  implore  forgiveness  for 
my  injustice;  for  I  hope,  that  my  sweet  child  has 
already  forgiven  her  wretched  father." 

Freely  did  the  weeping  Isodene,  now  no  longer 
Zaila,  award  forgiveness  to  her  parent ;  and,  late  as  it 
was,  they  started  for  the  Gipsy  camp,  in  search  of  the 
lute  woman.  The  Gipsies  were  holding  their  midnight 
revelry,  but  her  they  were  looking  for,  was  not  there, 
and,  upon  inquiring,  they  found  that  she  had  departed 
some  hours  previous. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Isodene,  bursting  into  tears,  "  I  now 
know  why  it  was  that  she  wept,  and  clung  to  me  so 
passionately,  upon  my  departure.  Poor  mother !  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  never  see  her  again." 

Knowing  that  search  would  prove  unavailing,  they 
turned  despairingly  away,  and  Isodene  forsook  her 
Gipsy  mode  of  life  for  ever. 

A  month  from  this  time,  a  brilliant  assembly  throng- 
ed Count  Lelingford's  lordly  castle,  to  celebrate  the 
finding  of  his  lovely  daughter.  All  the  pageantry  of 
gilded  wealth,  and  rank  was  glittering  there ;  but  Iso- 
dene was  not  happy ;  two  hearts,  the  dearest  to  her 
dn  earth,  were  yet  wanting,  and  she  sat  with  her  small 
hand  upon  her  bright  brow,  and  tears  in  her  dark 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  183 

eyes.  At  this  moment  her  father  approached  with  a 
young  nobleman,  and  announced  Henry,  the  young 
Duke  of  De  Mountfort. 

Isodene  looked  mechanically  up ;  her  cheek  turned 
ashy  pale,  and,  murmuring  "  Henry,"  she  fell  fainting 
into  her  father's  arms. 

An  hour  afterward  she  stood  alone  by  her  lover's 
side,  with  her  hand  resting  confidently  in  his,  and  with 
the  hat  ribbon  wound  playfully  around  his  waist  and 
fastened  to  her  wrist  by  the  bracelet  clasp. 

Her  heart  was  overflowing  with  happiness;  and 
when  Henry  left  to  answer  to  the  call  of  some  coquet- 
tish lady,  who  wished  to  lead  with  him  the  dance, 
Isodene  sought  the  garden,  and  seating  herself  by  a 
fountain,  whose  falling  waters  filled  the  air  with  lulling 
music,  she  murmured: 

"  Would  that  my  dear  mother  were  here,  I  should 
then  want  nothing  to  complete  my  happiness ! " 

Scarcely  had  she  ceased  speaking,  when  a  form 
started  up  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  Gipsy  was  before 
her.  Long  and  affectionate  was  the  conference  be- 
tween mother  and  daughter,  and  then  the  woman 
turned  to  go.  In  vain  were  all  Isodene's  tears  and 
pleading;  she  would  have  departed,  had  not  the  tall 
form  of  Count  Lelingford  arrested  her  steps.  The 
countenance  of  the  woman  changed  not,  as  haughtily 
she  bade  him  stand  aside. 


184  FRESH     L-iAVES 

"  Nay,"  said  the  penitent  husband,  hurriedly,  "  not 
till  I  have  made  thee  all  the  reparation  in  my  power, 
for  the  injuries  done  thee." 

Passionately,  earnestly,  eloquently,  did  he  plead 
forgiveness  for  the  wrong  he  had  committed. 

"  You  plead  in  vain,"  said  she,  coldly.  "  When, 
in  a  moment  of  passion,  because  a  false  and  lying  friend 
had  whispered  falsehood  in  your  ear,  you  thrust  me 
from  my  home,  my  husband,  and  my  child,  did  you 
think  I  could  ever  again  love  you?  No!  When, 
from  the  moment  that  you  won  me  from  my  parent's 
mansion,  only  to  thrust  me  alone  and  friendless  upon 
the  world,  with  all  the  purest  and  holiest  feelings  of  a 
woman's  heart  outraged — from  that  moment  my  love 
was  changed  to  scorn.  But  I  still  loved  my  child,  and 
bitter  were  my  moments  till  three  years  afterward, 
when  I  recognized  my  daughter,  the  descendant  of 
Spain's  proudest  nobles,  in  a  peasant's  garb ;  though 
I  rejoiced  that  she  was  absent  from  one,  unworthy 
the  name  of  parent  By  the  influence  of  a  moth- 
er's face  and  voice,  I  drew  her  from  home  —  resolved 
that  she  should  be  a. Gipsy,  and  know  no  other 
parentage.  But  the  knowledge  that  she  loved  one 
of  higher  rank,  and  that  that  was  the  only  way  to 
secure  her  happiness,  decided  me  to  again  give  her 
up  to  one  not  worthy  of  calling  her  his  child.  She 
is  now  yours,  and  I  go." 


FKOM     WESTERN    WOODS.  185 

"  Thou  hast  been  well  avenged,"  said  the  count, 
in  accents  of  deep  agony. 

"Mother,"  said  the  beautiful  Isodene,  in  a  deter- 
mined tone,  winding  her  arms  around  her  parent's 
neck,  and  looking  tearfully  up  into  her  face,  "  mother 
you  must  stay !  if  you  do  not,  I  will  give  up  all  my 
new-found  wealth,  and  rank,  and  go  with  you,  if  it  be 
to  death.  Look  upon  my  father's  care-worn  face,  and 
say  if  he  has  not  suffered  enough ;  would  it  not  be  too 
severe  to  again  blast  his  hopes,  and  tear  his  wife  and 
child  from  his  arms.  Oh  mother !  do  but  say  forgive." 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  and  kissed  it,  and 
placed  it  unresisted  into  her  father's. 

Such  tender,  pleading  eloquence!  who  could  re- 
sist it  ?  The  proud  heart  of  the  Gipsy  relented,  and 
she  consented  to  be  again  called  the  wife  of  Count 
Lelingford. 

It  was  not  long  till  the  sound  of  mirth  and  revelry 
again  sounded  through  the  lofty  halls  of  Lelingford 
Castle.  And  when  the  lovely  Isodene  stood  before 
the  altar  and  placed  her  hand  in  that  of  the  young 
Duke  of  De  Mountfort,  a  proud  and  happy  father  and 
smiling  mother  stood  by,  to  breathe  their  blessings  on 
the  head  of  the  young  bride. 

The  Silver  Lute  was  again  restored  to  its  original 
place,  in  the  little  boudoir;  but  Isodene,  the  wife  of 
De  Mountfort,  now  claimed  it  as  her  own;  and  often 


186 


FRESH     LEAVES 


did  the  murmur  of  the  fountains  mingle  with  the 
tones  of  witching  melody,  which  had  won  her  love 
and  happiness  as  Zaila  the  Gipsy  Singer. 


FROM   WESTERN    WOODS.  187 


THE  LOST  GLOVE 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  LITTLE  girl  was  sitting  in  the  September  sun- 
shine, that  fell  in  checkered  gleams  across  the 
old  wooden  steps,  in  front  of  a  decayed  and  tottering 
building,  in  one  of  the  by-streets  of  the  Empire  city. 
The  sunlight  seemed  like  a  pleasant  visitor,  as  it  crept 
from  her  little  naked  feet  and  ragged  dress  up  over 
her  dimpled  arms  and  shoulders,  and  nestled  amid 
the  shining  curls,  hanging  in  disheveled  profusion 
around  her  sweet  and  childish  face.  But,  as  it  grew 
more  inquisitive,  and  stole  under  her  drooping  lids  to 
discover  the  color  of  her  downcast  eyes,  it  betrayed 
two  bright,  sparkling,  but  sorrowful-looking  tears,  just 
creeping  down  to  the  edge  of  those  silken  lashes. 

Just  at  that  moment,  a  young  man,  who  was  pass- 
ing by,  stopped  short  in  his  hasty  walk,  to  gaze  for 


188  FRESH     LEAVES 

a  moment  on  the  sunshine,  the  tears,  and  the  beau- 
tiful little  creature  before  him.  He  was  a  poet  and 
a  painter;  and,  struck  by  the  exquisite  grace  and 
beauty  of  her  face  and  attitude,  perfect  in  their  un- 
conscious and  unstudied  loveliness,  he  sought  to  im- 
press the  image  upon  his  memory. 

"  What  a  glorious  picture  I  have  stumbled  on," 
said  he;  "I  must  have  that  picture — tears,  sunshine, 
and  all  It  will  win  me  fame." 

The  little  maiden  threw  up  the  lashes  glittering 
with  moisture,  and,  perceiving  a  stranger,  with  an 
artless  but  sad  smile,  held  out  her  hand  and  said : 

"  Please,  sir,  just  a  sixpence  for  my  mother." 

The  stranger  looked  at  the  little  pleading  hand,  and 
forgot  the  beautiful  face.  It  was  just  such  a  hand  as 
he  had  dreamed  of,  had  sought  for,  but  had  never 
before  found.  Even  though  belonging  to  a  child^its 
tiny  proportions  were  most  exquisitely  developed  — 
rounded,  delicate,  dimpled,  tapering,  perfect  I  In  the 
rapture  of  an  artist's  joy,  the  young  man  caught  the 
beautiful  little  hand  in  his  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
The  child  looked  surprised  and  frightened,  but  she 
said,  meekly, 
•  "  Only  a  sixpence,  sir,"  in  her  childish,  musical  voice. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  replied   the  artist,  fr>r  the 
first  time  comprehending  what  she  said,  «nd   em;; 
tying  a  handfull  of  dimes  in  her  lap. 


— 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  189 

"  Oh !  thank  you ! "  said  she,  her  large,  blue  eyes 
darkening  with  a  flash  of  delight;  "  you  are  very 
kind,  sir." 

"  I  should  like  to  paint  your  portrait,  pretty  one ; 
and  I  will  give  you  as  much  more  money,  if,  when  I 
come  for  you  to-morrow,  you  will  go  home  with  me, 
and  let  me  take  your  likeness." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  wondering  child. 

"  Oh !  I  will  show  you  to-morrow — something  very 
pretty." 

"  Well,  I  will  go,  sir,  if  mamma  will  let  me." 

The  artist,  all  enthusiasm  at  his  precious  discov- 
ery, stepped  gayly  down  the  street,  and  the  little  girl 
bounded  away  in  the  opposij^  direction  to  buy  a  loaf 
of  bread  for  her  sick  mother.  . 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Baker!  "  said  she,  joyfully,  spring- 
ing into  a  little  bakery,  where  a  hard-featured  man 
stood  behind  the  counter — "  I  may  have  the  bread, 
now,  for  mother,  may  n't  I  ?  "  and  she  held  out  her 
little  hand,  grasping  tight  the  shining  pieces  of  silver. 

"  Eh !  where  did  you  get  that,  little  girl  ?  Of  course 
you  can  have  the  bread,  when  you  can  pay  for  it." 

"  Given  to  me,  sir." 

"  Humph !  on  account  of  your  bright  eyes,  I  sup- 
pose. Catch  me  giving  bread,  or  money,  either,  to 
folks,  because  they  are  pretty ; "  and,  laying  out  a 
loaf  of  bread,  he  took  one  of  her  dimes  in  exchange. 


190  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  Oh !  "  exckimed  the  child,  her  eyes  falling  on  a 
few  oranges  ranged  in  the  window,  "  I  '11  take  an 
orange,  too  —  it  will  please  mother  so." 

Another  dime  was  taken;  and,  with  the  loaf  of 
bread  and  the  orange,  she  flew  back  to  her  comfort- 
less and  destitute  home. 

"  See  here,  mother,  what  I  've  brought  you !  "  she 
exclaimed,  gayly,  bounding  into  the  wretched  apart- 
ment ;  but.  she  stopped  short,  and,  letting  fall  her 
treasures,  sprang  to  the  bedside,  where,  pale  and  mo- 
tionless, a  woman  lay  dying,  alone  and  unattended. 

The  ashy  lids  were  closed  over  sunken  eyes;  her 
colorless  lips  were  parted,  and  the  breath  came  slow 
and  struggling  from  he^carcely-heaving  bosom. 

"  My  mother  !  my  poor  mother  !  "  shrieked  the 
child,  winding  her  arms  around  the  emaciated  form 
of  her  parent,  and  covering  her  cold,  clammy  brow 
with  kisses. 

"  My  child !  "  said  the  mother,  faintly — "  I  am  dy- 
ing, my  Stella." 

"  Oh!  mother!  "  sobbed  the  little  girl.  And  these 
two  words,  and  the  tone  in  which  they  were  said, 
coming,  as  they  did,  from  the  heart  of  a  child,  were 
fraught  with  an  agony  of  grief  and  suffering. 

"  Stella,"  continued  the  dying  woman,  "  this  ring, 
(with  a  strong  effort,  taking  it  from  her  finger  and 
giving  it  to  the  child,)  keep  it  always — never,  never 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  191 

part  with  it  —  it  may  some  time  bring  you  friends. 
Stella  —  God  bless  thee,  my  poor  orphan  !  "  and, 
clasping  her  child  convulsively  to  her  bosom,  she 
heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  •  sank  back  upon  her  pil- 
low —  dead. 

All  that  night,  the  little  girl  sat  alone  on  the 
wooden  steps,  now  drying  her  eyes  to  look  up  at 
the  bright  stars,  where  she  thought  her  mother  had 
gone ;  and  again  sobbing  and  wailing  most  touchingly, 
till,  just  as  the  rosy  tint  of  dawn  crept  over  the  great 
city,  from  mere  exhaustion  she  fell  asleep  on  her  hard 
pillow. 

That  day,  the  artist  did  not  come.  An  affair  of 
importance  called  him  from  the  city  for  a  couple  of 
weeks;  and,  when  he  returned,  and  still  full  of  the 
thought  of  the  Ifttle  maiden,  went  to  look  for  her, 
she  was  gone,  and  the  old  house  was  untenanted. 

A  month  afterward,  he  sailed  for  glorious  Italy 


192  FRESH    LEAVES 


CHAPTER  II. 

EIGHT  years  after  this  occurrence,  on  a  pleasant 
evening  of  October,  soon  after  sunset,  a  gentle- 
man was  promenading  through  Broadway.  Just  in 
advance  of  him,  tripping  gracefully  over  the  pave,  was 
a  young  girl  of  light  and  elegant  form,  iu  a  tasteful, 
but  rather  plain  dress,  and  close  cottage  hat.  He 
was  admiring  her  graceful  and  gliding  step,  when 
he  suddenly  paused.  She  had  dropped  one  of  her 
gloves.  He  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  dainty  little  cre- 
ation of  white  kid,  just  the  least  bit  in  the  world 
soiled  by  contact  with  the  pavement 

"  Exquisite !  "  muttered  he,  hurrying  after  the  fair 
loser,  with  the  commendable  intention  of  returning  it, 
and,  perhaps,  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  lady  who 
wore  such  a  glove. 

But  he  was  a  moment  too  late;  for,  just  as  he  was 
overtaking  her,  she  turned  suddenly  and  mounted  the 
steps  of  an  elegant  dwelling.  Balancing  her  pretty 
feet  on  the  edge  of  the  marble  door-sill,  she  stood  for 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  103 

half  a  moment  with  her  hand  on  the  polished  knob. 
The  hand  was  ungloved,  white  as  snow,  and  beautiful 
as  it  could  be.  She  opened  the  door  without  ringing 
the  bell,  and  disappeared  in  the  hall.  Of  course,  she 
resided  there. 

The  gentleman  placed  the  little  glove  in  his  pocket, 
took  down  the  number  of  the  residence,  and  walked 
away. 

It  was  twilight  when  he  reached  his  lodgings ;  and 
going  immediately  to  his  room,  he  threw  himself  into 
an  arm-chair  by  the  window,  and  sank  into  a  reverie ; 
from  which  he  was  awakened  by  the  presence  of  a 
visitor,  whose  unceremonious  entrance  put  to  flight  a 
whole  cloud  of  angels  in  white  kid  gloves,  and  little, 
mortal  hands  without  them. 

"  Why,  I  say,  Ernest,  how  do  you  do  ?  — do  n't  you 
hear  me  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible !     I  beg  your  pardon !  my  old  chum 

Hal ,  how  are  you?"  exclaimed  the  dreamer, 

springing  from  his  chair,  and  shaking  his  friend  most 
sensibly  by  the  hand.  "Why,  how  you  have  changed ! 
eight  years  have  improved  you  vastly,  I  must  confess." 

"  I  can  return  the  compliment,  with  interest,"  re- 
plied Hal,  gazing  admiringly  upon  his  friend's  elegant 
form,  and  strikingly  handsome,  and  intellectual  counte- 
nance. "European  polish  has  done  much,  even  for 
you.  But  how  have  you  fared  ?  how  succeeded  ?  have 


194  FRESH    LEAVES 

you  realized  half  your  young  dreams  of  glory  ?  has 
the  artist  been  as  successful  as  the  poet?  —  for  we 
have  occasionally  been  favored  here  with  some  of  your 
luxurious  fancies,  done  up  admirably,  in  beautiful 
verse." 

"  I  fear  you  flatter  me,  Hal ;  but  with  regard  to  my 
painting,  I  have  been  almost  as  successful  as  I  could, 
wish  —  that  is,  for  one  who  pursues  it  merely  for  his 
own  amusement" 

"  Quite  an  accomplished  amateur,  eh  ?  " 

The  two  friends  sat  down  to  converse  upon  old 
times,  and  the  happy  present,  and  the  promising 
future. 

Ernest  Dunmore  had  indeed  not  spent  eight  years 
in  travel,  in  cultivating  his  fine  taste,  and.  intellectual 
gifts,  without  returning  to  his  country  an  exceedingly 
refined,  and  fascinating  man. 

"By  the  way,  Hal,"  said  he,  suddenly  .interrupting 
his  friend  in  a  glowing  description  of  his  anticipations 
of  the  future,  "can  you  tell  me  what  young  lady 
resides  at  No Broadway  ?  " 

"Why,  Isidore  Allen,  our  city  belle.  Have  you 
seen  her?  She  is  a  beautiful  creature  —  bewitches 
all  of  us.  And  that  just  reminds  me.  that  I  came  with 
a  pressing  invitation  from  the  Beutleys,  for  you  to 
attend  a  grand"  party  there  to-night  Miss  Allen  will 
of  course  be  there." 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         195 

"  Then  I  shall,  certainly !  "  was  the  animated  reply. 

"Why,  Ernest,  you  must  have  seen  this  paragon  of 
beauty.  In  love,  so  soon,  after  resisting  all  the  bright 
eyes,  and  bewildering  smiles  of  foreign  perfection  for 
eight  years ! " 

"  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken.  I  am  not  certain  that 
I  have  seen  this  belle  of  yours  —  at  least,  I  have  not 
seen  her  face." 

"  Well,  you  shall  see  her  to-night.  The  ladies  have 
heard  of  your  arrival,  and  are  on  tip-toe  to  behold  the 
wonderful  Mr.  Dunmore,  the  poet,  the  painter,  and  the 
millionaire." 

"How  very  flattering!  "  returned  Ernest,  smiling  a 
quiet,  but  perfectly  satisfied  smile,  as  he  turned  to  the 
mirror  to  arrange  his  toilet  for  the  evening.  What 
gentleman,  possessing  grace,  accomplishments,  intel- 
lect, and  the  advantages  of  personal  beauty,  and 
great  fortune,  would  not  be  a  little  inclined  toward  a 
pleasant  feeling  of  vanity?  None,  certainly  —  at 
least,  not  Mr.  Ernest  Dunmore. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Hal  Hazleton  and 
his  friend  entered  the  brilliant  and  crowded  rooms  of 
the  Bentleys.  A  lady  was  at  the  piano.  It  was  Miss 
Allen,  and  the  gentlemen  edged  through  the  throng, 
and  reached  the  instrument  just  as  the  sweet  voice 
of  the  belle  was  trembling  on  the  concluding  stanza. 
She  was  certainly  a  beautiful  creature,  just  nineteen, 


196  FRESH    LEAVES 

with  glorious,  dark  eyes,  sweeping  lashes,  an  exquis- 
itely-curved mouth,  and  finely-chiseled  features  —  a 
graceful  form,  too ;  but  her  hand  —  a  shade  of  disap- 
pointment darkened  the  fine  face  of  Earnest — it  was 
a  very  pretty  hand,  slender  and  tapering;  but  it  was 
not  the  hand  —  it  could  not  wear  such  a  glove. 

"  A  radiant  creature!  is  n't  she?"  whispered  Hal, 
as  she  rose  from  the  piano. 

"  Very  pretty,"  was  the  disappointed  reply. 

"  Very  pretty !"  was  the  rather  indignant  ejacula- 
tion. "  She  is  peerless,  unequaled,  divine ! " 
•  "  But  her  hand ! "  At  this  moment,  the  lady  turned 
toward  them,  and  Hal  presented  his  friend,  Mr.  Ernest 
Dunmore;  and  soon  the  two  most  distinguished  per- 
sonages present — the  belle  and  the  artist-millionaire — 
were  promenading  through  the  brilliant  assembly. 
Ernest  found  his  bright  companion  really  bewitching. 
She  was  witty,  learned,  brilliant,  beautiful — he  would 
certainly  have  been  fascinated,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  little  kid  glove  that  was  lying  on  his  heart,  and 
the  perfect  little  hand  he  had  seen  on  the  door-knob. 
As  it  was,  his  heart  thrilled  and  palpitated  slightly 
beneath  its  tiny  treasure,  and  he  colored  twice,  and 
stammered  once — the  accomplished  Mr.  Dunmore. 

The  belle  was  unusually  charming.  She  thought 
she  had  made  a  decided  and  most  agreeable  conquest 
She  had  quite  a  passion  for  paintings.  Ernest  would 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS. 


197 


have  a  room  prepared  for  the  exhibition  of  his  works 
to  his  friends,  by  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  he 
would  be  happy  to  wait  on  her  there,  and  hear  her 
opinion :  no  doubt  her  criticisms  would  be  of  value. 
And  they  separated,  mutually  pleased.  Poor  little 
glove !  what  will  be  thy  fate  ? 


108  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    III. 

ISIDORE  ALLEN  was  slowly  promenading  through 
the  exhibition-room,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Ernest 
Dunmore.  He  was  more  than  ever  enchanted  by  her 
grace,  her  fine  taste,  and  her  loveliness.  She  was 
very  enthusiastic,  and  her  observations  showed  correct 
judgment  and  cultivated  taste.  Ernest  sighed,  as  he 
stole  a  glance  at  her  hand — it  certainly  was  not  a 
perfect  one  —  and  thought  of  the  glove  so  carefully 
laid  —  on  his  dressing-table. 

"  This,"  said  Ernest,  as  he  withdrew  the  cloth  which 
hung  over  a  painting,  "  I  consider  my  master-piece." 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful !  "  said  Isidore,  and  the  tears 
sprang  uncalled  into  her  dark,  soft  eyes,  at  the  love- 
liness of  the  picture.  Ernest  perceived  them,  and 
thought  them  the  dearest  tribute  that  could  be  paid 
to  his  powers  as  an  artist 

It  was  a  picture  of  the  little  girl,  the  sunshine, 
and  the  old  wooden  steps.  There  was  the  childish, 
graceful  attitude;  the  little,  pleading  hand  extended 
so  prettily ;  the  dancing  curls  of  gold,  and  the  tearful 
fringes  thrown  up  from  her  large,  mournful,  beautiful 


FROM    WESTERN    'WOODS.  199 

eyes,  and,  over  all,  the  rich,  warm,  glowing  light, 
slumbering  softly  over  the  brightly-sorrowful  picture. 

"  Precisely !  "  exclaimed  Isidore,  after  regarding  it 
an  instant ;  "  it  is  the  very  likeness  of  Stella  May,  my 
dressing-maid.  One  would  think  it  copied  from  her, 
just  as  she  looked  eight  years  ago,  when  mamma 
brought  her  home  as  my  companion  and  assistant" 

"Indeed!"  said  Ernest,  while  a  flash  of  surprise, 
and  delight  beamed  over  his  face ;  "  will  you  not  tell 
me  something  of  your  Stella  May  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure ;  for  I  look  at  her  always  in  connec- 
tion with  some  romance  or  another;  she  is  so  peculiar, 
such  a  strange  being.  I  was  only  a  child  myself, 
when,  one  day,  mamma  was  visiting  several  poor 
people,  to  whom  she  frequently  afforded  assistance, 
when  she  noticed  a  little  girl  sitting  in  the  doorway 
of  an  old  building,  weeping  bitterly.  She  spoke  to 
her  kindly,  but  the  little  girl  only  raised  her  head  a 
moment,  and  then  sobbed  more  wildly  than  ever. 
'  My  mother  —  my  dear  mother  —  they  have  buried 
my  mother ! '  was  all  she  could  make  her  say.  Touch- 
ed by  her  grief,  and  anxious  to  know  if  she  was  left 
friendless,  mamma  entered  the  house,  which  she  found 
entirely  deserted,  and  unfurnished.  What  little  wretch- 
ed furniture  had  remained,  had  been  seized  by  the 
neighbors,  in  payment  for  various  articles  which  they 
had  given  the  woman  before  she  died.  The  mother 


200  FRESH    LEAVES 

had  been  buried  by  the  poor-officers,  and  the  child 
was  left  unpitied,  unprotected,  homeless,"  and  destitute. 
Mamma  took  the  little  mourner  into  her  carriage,  and 
brought  her  home.  For  days  she  refused  all  consola- 
tion, weeping  all  day,  and  sighing  all  night,  as  if  her 
young  heart  had  broken  with  its  grief.  But  we  were 
all  very  kind  to  her,  and,  gradually,  she  became  more 
contented ;  and  when,  at  length,  she  smiled,  or  war- 
bled to  herself  notes  of  music  that  she  had  heard, 
child  as  I  was,  I  loved  her  for  her  beauty,  and  sweet- 
ness. We  knew  there  must  be  some  unusual  circum- 
stance connected  with  her,  for  she  had  a  ring,  engraven 
on  the  inside,  with  her  name,  '  Stella  May ; '  and  then, 
she  was  so  naturally  lady-like,  and  refined,  so  tasteful, 
and  intelligent,  it  seemed  as  if  the  very  spirit  of  grace 
breathed,  and  lived  in  every  thing  she  said  or  did. 
Mamma  congratulated  herself  on  having  found  such 
a  treasure  of  a  companion  for  her  daughter;  and,  as 
for  me,  Stella  was  my  dependence  —  for  she  assisted 
me  in  all  the  tasks  imposed  upon  my  youthful  patience 
by  a  dried  and  withered  specimen  of  a  governess. 
Though  three  years  the  youngest,  she  was  more  ready 
than  1  in  every  branch  of  study,  which  mamma  allowed 
her  to  pursue,  merely  to  gratify  me.  Music,  of  course, 
was  not  included.  But  for  this  she  had  such  a  pas- 
sion, and  seemed  so  utterly  wrapped  up  in  it,  that 
I  really  felt  grieved  not  to  have  her  share  in  my 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  201 

lessons.  She  never  said  anything  about  it ;  but,  the 
tears  would  start  to  her  eyes  when  I  left  her  for  the 
practice-room:  so,  at  length,  I  persuaded  mamma  to 
let  her  take  lessons,  too.  And  such  a  musical  talent 
as  she  has,  is  really  wonderful !  —  she  performs  the 
most  divinely  on  the. harp  of  any  one  I  ever  heard! 
Then  she  has  such  an  exquisite  taste  in  dress!  I  do 
not  pretend  to  exercise  the  least  judgment  with  re- 
gard to  the  arrangement  of  my  wardrobe  —  she  so  far 
excels  me  in  all  such  matters.  Then  she  is  so  sensi 
tive,  so  proud,  yet  so  grateful  for  kindness !  Really 
she  is  quite  a  wonder  of  a  dressing-maid!  I  do  be- 
lieve, if  she  were  to  be  brought  out  —  despite  the 
advantages  of  fortune  —  she  would  throw  me  quite 
into  the  shade." 

"  That  would  be  impossible,  Miss  Allen.  But  do 
you  never  introduce  this  fair  wonder  to  your  friends?  " 

"  Ah,  I  see!  "  said  the  lady,  laughing,  "  you  would 
like  to  catch  a  glimpse  at  her  rare  beauty  !  Very 
well ! — as  you  are  an  artist,  and  she  looks  so  very  much 
like  this  painting  of  yours,  I  will  humor  you,  if  possi- 
ble. But  she  has  too  much  native  delicacy  to  ever  yield 
to  my  solicitations  to  appear  in  the  parlor;  so  I  shall 
have  to  bring  her  here.  Mr.  Hazleton  will  call  for  us 
to-rhorro\v  ?  "  she  said,  as  that  gentleman  approached. 

"  Certainly ;  I  shall  only  feel  too  much  honored." 
And  the  three  continued  on  their  way  round  the  room. 


C02  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  next  day,  as  the  snowy  fingers  of  Stella  May 
were  wreathing  the  dark  hair  of  her  mistress  into 
shining  braids,  Isidore  said, 

"  Would  you  like  to  visit  the  exhibition-room  of  our 
new  artist,  this  afternoon,  Stella  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lady,  very  much,"  replied  the  young  girl ; 
«but—" 

"  Nay,  Stella,  you  must  go,  just  to  oblige  me.  There 
is  a  picture  there  that  I  admire  very  much,  and  I  know 
you  would  love  to  see  it" 

"  Indeed,  lady,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  love 
everything  beautiful  —  my  harp,  my  flowers,  and  my 
own  beautiful  mistress,"  said  the  young  maiden,  in 
a  trembling  and  slightly  mournful  voice ;  "  but  such 
things  make  me  sad  and  unhappy,  when  I  know  I 
ought  to  be  grateful  and  contented.  But  I  will  go." 

How  wildly  the  heart  of  Ernest  Dunmore  throbbed 
and  palpitated,  when  his  eyes  met  those  of  Stella 
May.  The  brightest  dream,  the  loveliest  fancy,  the 
sweetest  vision  of  his  poet's  soul,  looked  on  him 
through  those  eyes;  the  one  embodiment  of  all  his 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         203 

heart  had  longed  for,  and  not  found,  lived,  breathed 
before  him  !  The  pure,  girlish,  spiritual  brow;  the 
deep,  dreamy,  shadowy  eyes ;  the  sweet  mouth,  beau- 
tiful in  its  expression  of  subdued  repose ;  the  eloquent 
color,  coming  and  going  in  her  cheek,  just  as  the 
thoughts  came  and  went  in  her  soul.  There  was  a 
proud  reserve  mingled  with  the  ineffable  grace  of 
her  manner,  that  no  princess  could  surpass.  Ernest 
almost  forgot  to  notice  her  hand,  till  she  raised  it  to 
smooth  back  a  truant  curl  that  had  stolen  from  the 
confinement  of  her  straw  hat.  It  was  the  hand  he 
hud  looked  for  eight  years!  She  wore  but  one  glove; 
where  was  its  mate  ?  Ernest  smiled,  and  his  heart 
gave  a  bound  against  the  little  white  treasure  that 
had  again  found  its  way  to  his  vest-pocket  And  he 
had  once  held  that  beautiful  hand  in  his — had  pressed 
it  to  his  lips;  would  he  ever  clasp  it  again?  For 
Ernest  Dunmore  was  a  proud  millionaire,  and  Stella 
May  was  a  dressing-maid! 

They  paused  first  before  a  lovely  picture  of  sun- 
set —  an  Italian  scene.  Stella  gazed  at  it  with  a 
flushed  cheek  and  brightening  eye. 

"  Do  you  love  Italy  ?  would  you  like  to  visit  it,  Miss 
May  ?  " 

"  I  have  dreamed  of  it  ever,"  replied  the  young 
girl,  raising  her  soft  eyes  innocently  to  her  compan- 
ion's face. 


204  FRESH     LEAVES 

There  was  something  peculiar  in  his  earnest  gaze, 
and  the  silken  lashes  drooped  slowly  toward  the  deep- 
ening color  in  her  cheek.  Isidore  Allen  observed  the 
manner  of  both,  and,  when  Stella  raised  her  eyes,  she 
curled  her  full  lip  very  slightly,  but  it  called  the  crim- 
son to  that  gentle  brow,  and  a  flash  of  pride  to  those 
deep,  beautiful  eyes.  Isidore  was  sorry  in  a  moment — 
she  was  usually  so  kind  and  considerate ;  but  Ernest 
had  excited  her  ambition,  and  she  was  jealous  —  of 
her  dressing-maid.  But  she  knew  Mr.  Dunmore  to 
be  proud  and  fastidious,  and  the  next  moment  she 
smiled  at  her  own  vain  fears. 

"  And  now  for  the  picture  I  told  you  of,  Stella," 
said  Isidore,  as  the  four  paused  in  front  of  the  vailed 
painting. 

"  Only  a  sixpence,  please,  sir,  to  buy  bread  for  my 
mother,"  repeated  Ernest,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  maiden's  face,  as  he  drew  aside  the  curtain. 

Stella  gazed  at  it  a  moment,  and  then  up  into  the 
face  of  the  artist,  with  a  look  of  wondering  inquiry. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  Stella  burst  into  tears.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  memory  of  her  mother  —  perhaps  it  was 
his  thoughtless  and  cruel  reminding  of  what  she  had 
been  —  that  so  affected  her.  The  artist  was  embar- 
rassed. It  was  a  delicate  subject  to  make  apologies 
for;  and  his  friend  Hal  and  Miss  Allen  both  looked 
surprised,  but  he  rallied,  and  said  frankly: 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  205 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss"  May,  if  I  have  wounded  your 
feelings.  It  was  unintentional ;  and,  indeed,  I  am 
very  happy  to  meet  again  the  little  girl  who,  you  see, 
I  have  never  forgotten." 

"  Then  this  is  a  portrait  of  our  Stella,  is  it  ?  "  said 
Isidore,  caressing  the  young  girl,  to  remove  her  injured 
feelings. 

"  Let  us  return,  Miss  Allen ;  I  do  not  feel  well," 
said  she,  in  a  low  tone ;  and  they  retired. 

That  evening,  there  was  no  company  in  the  parlor, 
and  Stella  came  down,  at  Isidore's  request,  to  play 
for  her. 

"  Oh!  that  Mr.  Dunmore  could  picture  her  thus 
lovely  upon  the  canvass,"  thought  Isidore,  as  she 
watched  her  beautiful  companion,  who  was  leaning 
over  the  harp,  lost  in  her  own  sweet  melody.  Her 
rounded  arm  gleamed  out  from  its  falling  sleeve,  like 
moulded  snow,  as  the  small  fingers  of  that  lovely  hand 
swept  over  the  quivering  strings ;  like  the  shadow  of 
a  fluttering  rose-leaf  on  a  lily,  the  soft  color  hovered 
on  her  cheek;  and  her  bright,  spiritual  eyes  were  cast 
upward  with  a  dreamy,  clear,  forgetful  look,  as  her 
bright  lips  trembled  with  the  rich  gush  of  music  thrill- 
ing up  from  a  soul  full  of  beauty  and  melody. 

The  two  maidens  were  both  so  absorbed  that  they 
did  not  hear  the  ring  of  the  door-bell,  nor  notice  the 

gentleman  who  stood,  hat  in  hand,  just  inside  the 
9* 


206  FKESH     LEAVES 

parlor.  It  was  Mr.  Dunmore.  He,  too,  was  charmed 
into  silence,  and  stood  mute  and  motionless  till  the 
last  quiver  of  the  harp  died  away,  and  Isidore,  per- 
ceiving him,  exclaimed  laughingly, 

"  Spell-bound,  Mr.  Dunmore  ?  " 

Stella  started  and  blushed  crimson,  and,  rising  has- 
tily, would  have  retreated  from  the  apartment,  but 
Ernest  detained  her  by  begging  for  another  song. 
She  recovered  her  self-possession  immediately,  and 
complied  gracefully  with  his  request 

The  evening  passed  away  delightfully.  Ernest 
was  a  man  of  rare  accomplishments  and  inexhaust- 
ible sources  of  amusement  and  information.  It  was 
the  first  time  Stella  had  ever  met  with  such  a  person ; 
books  and  her  own  high  thoughts  had  been  her  only 
companions.  It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that,  listening 
eagerly  to  every  accent  of  his  fine  voice,  and  drinking 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  dark,  soul-lit  eyes,  she  forgot 
herself,  her  circumstances,  all  the  sadness  of  her  life. 

But  she  was  doomed  to  a  quick  waking  from  her 
dream  :  Isidore  saw  it  all,  and  displeasure  flashed 
from  her  eyes,  as  she  saw  that  she  was  rivaled  by 
the  sweet  loveliness  of  the  young  orphan. 

"  Stella,  you  may  retire,  now,"  she  said  quietly,  and 
stingingly. 

The  young  girl's  cheek  grew  deadly  pale,  but  she 
arose  with  the  proud  dignity  of  a  queen,  and,  bidding 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  207 

Mr.  Dunmore  good  evening,  left  the  apartment  A 
flush  of  indignation  mounted  to  the  white  forehead 
of  Ernest,  as  she  disappeared,  and  his  manner  became 
told  and  constrained. 

Isidore  saw  she  had  made  a  misstep,  had  forgotten 
her  position  as  a  lady,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  felt  humbled.  She  strove  to  be  gay  and  brilliant, 
but  she  failed,  and  in  a  few  moments  her  visitor  left 

Who  can  tell  the  deep  misery  in  the  desolate  or- 
phan's heart,  as  she  threw  herself  on  her  couch  and 
strove  to  hush  its  wild  throbbing  ?  A  cloud  had  ever 
cast  its  dim  shadow  on  the  happiness  of  that  young 
heart,  and  now  the  cloud  had  burst  in  a  wild  storm 
of  anguish,  that  threatened  to  annihilate  every  flower 
of  hope  she  had  ever  cherished.  Sensitive  to  an  ex- 
treme, proud  and  delicate,  to  be  thus  repulsed  and 
scorned  before  him,  and  by  the  only  one  who  had 
ever  appreciated  her  since  they  bore  her  mother  away 
to  the  pauper's  burial-place.  Long  after  midnight  she 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning,  Stella  was  ill;  but  she  said  no- 
thing, though  her  head  ached  intensely,  and  her  face 
burned  with  fever.  Isidore's  heart  reproached  her 
with  her  cruelty;  but  she  knew  that  an  apology 
only  would  deepen  the  wound,  so  she  told  her  kindly 
that  she  might  keep  her  room,  if  she  was  not  well. 
Solitude  was  grateful  to  the  orphan's  heart 


208  FRESH    LEAVES 


CHAPTER    V. 

THREE  weeks  passed  away,  and  Ernest  Dunmore 
had  called  but  once  on  the  belle.  Hopeless  of 
ever  winning  his  regard,  she  had  renewed  her  flirta- 
tion with  Hal  Hazleton  —  for  whom,  perhaps,  after  all, 
she  had  the  most  afiection,  if  he  was  not  quite  so 
distingue. 

The  Aliens  were  all  out  to  a  brilliant  bridal  party. 
Stella  had  gone  down  to  the  deserted  parlors,  and, 
seating  herself  by  the  splendid  center-table,  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands.  Half  an  hour  passed  by, 
and  she  still  sat  motionless;  but  by-and-by  the  words 
struggled  up  from  her  aching  heart,  broken  and 
almost  incoherently: 

"  And  this  is  fate  —  my  fatd  !  while  Isidore  is  so 
happy  —  cherished,  loved,  worshiped,  even  by  him. 
Oh !  I  am  so  utterly  wretched  —  so  very  unhappy !  " 

"  Would  to  be  loved,  cherished,  worshiped,  make 
you  happy,  dear  Stella  ?  "  said  a  rich,  manly  voice,  in 
tones  of  thrilling  tenderness,  as  an  arm  stole  round 
her  waist,  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS. 


209 


"  Ernest  ! "  murmured  the  frightened  girl,  hiding 
her  beautiful  young  face  in  his  bosom. 

"  Stella !  vision  of  my  dreams !  radiant  spirit-love 
of  mine !  beautiful  embodiment  of  all  the  poet  or  the 
painter  ever  yearned  for !  I  am  thine  —  all  thine  — 
my  Stella!" 

There  was  a  hush  through  the  lofty  apartment, 
broken,  at  last  by  a  low  sob,  coming  up  from  a  hearl 
too  full  of  happiness. 


210  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    VI. 

IT  was  a  beautiful  June  morning,  radiant  with  sun- 
light, and  heavy  with  perfume  where,  occasionally, 
the  air  floated  over  a  dewy  garden  in  the  midst  of 
the  close,  populous  city.  There  was  a  wedding  at  the 
church  that  morning,  and  it  was  crowded  with  the 
elite  —  drawn  thither  out  of  curiosity  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  bride  of  Ernest  Dunmore,  the  millionaire.  It 
•was  rumored  he  had  chosen  Miss  Allen's  dressing- 
maid  to  be  the  partner  of  his  wealth  and  accomplish' 
ments.  There  were  many  smiles,  some  sneers,  and 
still  more  wondering  remarks.  But  they  were  all 
hushed,  when  the  bridal-party  entered  and  walked 
up  the  aisle.  A  suppressed  murmur  of  admiration 
was  all  the  sound,  as  every  eye  was  riveted  on  the 
rare  loveliness  of  the  bride's  young  face.  There  was 
no  bashfulness,  no  awkwardness  to  ridicule  —  only  a 
beautiful  timidity,  as  softening  and  as  graceful  as  the 
vail  that  floated  round  her,  as  she  stood  by  the  side 
of  her  betrothed  before  the  altar.  Isidore  Allen  and 
Hal  Hazleton  were  their  attendants. 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  211 

The  priest,  in  his  clerical  robes,  stood  up  and  com- 
menced the  ceremony,  when  they  suddenly  thought — 
who  should  give  the  bride  away  ?  At  this  important 
moment,  a  noble-looking  man,  still  in  the  prime  of 
life,  stepped  forward  and  gave  away  —  his  daughter/ 
It  was  no  time  for  explanation,  and  the  ceremony 
proceeded. 

Stella  May  was  the  wife  of  Ernest  Dunmore. 

The  bride  and  groom  immediately  changed  places 
with  their  attendants,  and  the  whole  fashionable  world 
stared  in  mute  surprise  as  the  good  man  pronounced 
Isidore  Allen  and  Harry  Hazleton  man  and  wife. 

"  My  daughter!  God  bless  you,  my  beautiful  child ! 
and  may  you  be  happy  with  your  young  heart's 
choice !  "  and  the  stranger  folded  Stella  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her  white  brow  fondly. 

Something  told  Stella  it  was  indeed  her  father,  and 
she  wound  her  fair  arms  around  his  neck,  and  pressed 
her  warm  lips  to  his  cheek. 

"  Stella !  "  said  Ernest  in  surprise,  "  perhaps  this  is 
a  mistake ! " 

"  Let  this  be  the  proof,"  said  the  stranger,  taking  a 
gold  locket  from  his  bosom,  containing  two  minatures — 
one,  evidently  a  likeness  of  himself,  the  other  the  very 
counterpart  of  the  bride. 

"  Your  mother  looked  just  as  you  do  now,  when  I 
married  her,"  said  Mr.  May,  regarding  his  bright 


212  FRESH    LEAVES 

daughter,  with  eyes  dim  with  tears.  "  But  we  parted 
in  bitterness,  and  were  both  proud;  and  when  I 
repented,  and  went  to  search  for  her,  she  had  gone, 
none  knew  whither.  I  have  at  last  learned  her 
mournful  fate;  but  I  am  happier  than  I  have  been 
for  many  years,  to-day,  my  daughter.  Heaven  bless 
those  who  have  been  kind  to  you!"  and  he  looked 
gratefully  at  Isidore,  who  whispered  to  her  husband : 

"  I  always  knew  Stella  May  would  have  a  romance." 

"  And  so  we  must  go  south,  first,  and  roam  amid 
the  orange  flowers  and  myrtles  around  your  father's 
romantic  home,  must  we  ?  "  said  Ernest  Dunmore,  as 
he  handed  his  bride  into  the  carriage,  "and  go  to 
Italy  afterward  ?  " 

"  If  he  wishes  it,  Ernest  But,  really,  hi  the  confu- 
sion I  have  dropped  one  of  my  gloves." 

"  Oh !  never  mind,  dear,"  said  Ernest,  taking  a  little 
white  glove  out  of  his  vest  pocket,  and  handing  it  to 
his  wife,  with  a  very  demure  countenance,  "  this  will 
answer." 

"  The  glove  I  lost  last  fall! "  said  the  bride,  with  a 
look  of  wonder. 

"Ahem! "  said  Ernest 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  213 


THE  LIVING  STATUE. 


AST  AR  —  a  dream  —  a  passion-flower — was  beau- 
tiful Nina  Forrest !  A  poet  —  a  thrilling  and 
exalted  one  —  was  her  father :  a  wild  and  radiant 
creature  —  such  as  those  that  sometimes  make  us  say, 
"  surely,  angels  thrill  us  with  their  presence  yet," — 
was  her  mother.  Italy,  passionate  Italy,  was  her 
birth-place  —  starry  skies,  and  whispering  winds,  and 
rare  bright  flowers,  were  her  companions — a  lute  was 
her  idol  —  a  marble  palace,  hid  away  in  the  loveliest 
valley  that  the  burning  skies  of  her  native  land  ever 
looked  upon,  was  her  home. 

It  was  midnight  What  had  Nina  to  do  with  sleep- 
ing dreams,  in  that  still  and  beautiful  hour?  It  was 
now,  that  her  cheek  grew  crimson,  and  Ler  heart 
throbbed  feverishly,  and  her  whole  being  quiver^ 


214  FRESH     LEAVES 

with  the  intenseness  of  unutterable  emotions,  answer- 
ing back,  silently,  the  murmur  of  the  waves  that 
flowed  brightly  by  her  home  —  the  tremble  of  rich 
starlight  —  the  perfume  of  orange  flowers  —  the  dim, 
deep,  awe-inspiring  shadows  of  distant  mountains,  and 
the  wild,  faint  whisper  of  the  caressing  wind.  She 
leaned  from  the  balcony  of  her  chamber,  and  looked 
up,  dreamingly,  to  the  silver  and  sapphire  sky,  with 
her  large,  black,  spiritual  eyes.  Rich,  curving  lashes 
laid  back  till  they  met  the  delicate  arch  of  her  white 
brow  —  thick  tresses  of  ebon  hair  rippled  like  shining 
waves  around  her  form  —  a  rare,  soft  color  wavered  in 
her  young  cheek  —  a  trembling  eloquence  was  upon 
her  restless,  crimson  lips. 

A  wanderer  and  adventurer,  who  had  strayed  into 
the  valley,  was  hidden  amid  the  shadows  of  Nina's 
bower.  With  breathless  eagerness  his  fine  head  was 
inclined  forward,  and  his  dark,  gray  eyes  deepened 
and  burned  as  he  gazed  upon  the  surpassingly-beau- 
tiful vision  that,  like  the  personification  of  an  exquisite 
dream,  leaned  gracefully  upon  the  marble  balustrade. 

"Oh!  Venice!  Venice!"  he  murmured,  "how  would 
your  enthusiastic  throngs  grow  mad  with  delight  to 
look  upon  the  image  of  one  so  inconceivably  lovely. 
A  world's  applause  and  a  deathless  name  would  he 
win,  who  could  mould  the  pulseless  marble  into  the 
likeness  of  aught  so  beautiful  Nina  Forrest  —  the 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  215 

peasants  tell  me  that  is  your  name  —  you  must  be 
won — must  be  the  bride  of  Laurens  Delano :  not  that 
there  is  room  in  my  wild  heart  to  love,  as  those  eyes 
tell  me  you  would  love — my  soul  is  all  given  to  ambi- 
tion, to  a  hope  of  immortal  fame  —  but  that  I  may 
mould  from  that  exquisite  form  and  radiant  features, 
a  creation  of  stone  that  shall  win  me  immortality ! " 

With  a  throbbing  pulse,  and  eager  gaze,  he  watched 
the  maiden,  till  her  head  drooped  gently  upon  the 
snowy  arm  resting  on  the  balustrade,  the  dark-fringed 
lids  closed  slowly  over  her  starry  eyes,  the  breath 
swelled  softly,  and  evenly  in  her  beautiful  bosom  — 
she  was  asleep.  Silently,  and  cautiously  the  young 
sculptor  crept  from  the  orange-bower,  and,  with  fear- 
less daring,  climbed  up,  by  the  vines  and  pillars,  till 
he  stood  beside  the  fair  slumberer  upon  the  balcony. 

The  rich  moonlight  lay  like  a  spiritual  day  upon  the 
earth,  and  in  the  air.  He  bent  silently  over  the  living 
vision  of  beauty,  and  mused  upon  her  bewildering 
loveliness;  while  his  spirit  thrilled,  not  with  love,  nor 
a  sense  of  bliss,  but  with  the  thought  of  the  fame  he 
would  win,  if  he  succeeded  in  transferring  those  perfect 
proportions  to  marble. 

The  crimson  of  excitement  had  gone  down  from 
her  lily  cheek,  and  left  it  clear  and  white;  and  every 
lovely  feature  was  perfect  in  its  sweet  repose. 

Laurens  Delano  knelt  down  by  the  sleeper,  and, 


216  FRESH     LEAVES 

taking  her  small,  soft  hand  in  his,  he  pressed  it  pas- 
sionately to  his  bosom.  With  a  sighing  breath,  and 
parted  lips,  the  young  girl  unclosed  her  large  eyes, 
•with  a  slow  flash  of  surprise  upon  the  stranger  at  her 
feet 

Ambition  is  almost  as  strong  an  incentive  as  love ; 
and  the  Signer  Delano  was  artful  and  talented.  In  a 
low  and  eloquent  voice,  he  murmured  wild,  broken 
expressions  of  admiration  and  endearment  —  angel- 
dream,  and  star-vision,  and  sweet,  living  reality,  he 
called  her  —  as  the  planet  of  his  destiny,  he  addressed 
her  —  should  that  destiny  be  wild,  and  mad  as  the 
thunderstorm,  or  sweet  and  placid  as  a  night  when 
the  evening-star  was  queen  of  the  jeweled  sky  ? 

All  this  was  in  glowing  Italy,  where  love  springs 
instantaneously  into  perfect  existence.  If  Nina  Forrest 
was  gifted  with  the  passionate  sensibility  which  makes 
the  eye  swim  and  darken  with  tears,  the  cheek  flush, 
and  the  lip  quiver  with  the  unspoken  emotion  called 
up  by  a  passing  form  of  nature's  loveliness,  how  would 
her  wild  young  spirit  respond  to  these  first  words  of 
passion  that  had  ever  fallen  upon  her  ear! 

The  yearning  of  her  spirit,  and  the  thrilling  of  her 
heart,  found  a  bewildering  and  sweet  utterance  in  the 
language  of  another  addressed  to  herself;  and  her 
soul  yielded  instantly  to  its  fascination. 

The  dark  ringlets  of  Laurens  Delano  mingled  with 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  2l7 

the  raven  curls  of  Nina — his  warm  breath  was  on 
her  forehead  —  and,  trembling  like  a  frightened  bird, 
she  nestled  to  his  bosom,  and.  in  wild  warbles  of  bro- 
ken music,  breathed  out  her  timid,  and  delicious  joy. 
Three  nights  from  then,  she  threw  herself  into  the 
arms  of  her  lover,  and  went  with  him  to  his  distant 
home,  leaving  the  starry  bowers,  and  marble  halls  of 
her  parent's  palace  lonely,  mournful,  and  desolate. 


The  sculptor,  Laurens  Delano,  was  pacing  with  a 
hasty  step  to  and  fro  through  his  studio.  The  imple- 
ments of  his  art  were  scattered  around,  and  a  statue, 
nearly  finished,  stood  on  a  pedestal.  It  was  evidently 
intended  as  a  likeness  of  his  wife,  but  it  did  not  please 
him;  he  was  impatient.  It  lacked  the  expression  of 
passionate  spirituality,  the  ethereal  delicacy  and  yet 
fervor  of  her  beauty,  the  rare,  and  ineffable  loveliness 
of  her  features.  It  was  very  beautiful  —  but  it  was 
not  the  perfect  embodiment  of  the  image  in  his  mind — 
it  was  not  such  a  creation  of  genius  as  would  crown 
his  brow  with  an  imperishable  wreath  of  glory.  He 
was  vexed  and  excited  almost  to  madness,  to  think 
that  his  hand  should  fail  to  execute  what  his  mind 
conceived — he  laughed  bitterly  at  his  want  of  success, 
and  stamped  his  feet  upon  the  floor  in  anger.  Sud- 
denly a  stringe  thought  entered  his  troubled  breast, 


218  FRESH    LEAVES 

and  calmed  his  fretful  mood.  His  brow  burned,  and 
his  fine  lip  curled  with  an  exulting  smile.  No  one  had 
been  permitted  to  behold  his  bride  —  he  had  kept  her 
entirely  secluded,  that  none  might  know  but  that  his 
master-piece  was  an  ideal  creation.  Herself  should 
personate  the  marble  form  he  wished  to  sculpture  — 
she  should  be  a  living  statue  that  would  win  him  im- 
mortality. He  had  heard  of  a  subtle  and  curious 
potion,  to  be  procured  in  Venice,  that  would  suspend 
all  appearance  of  life  for  three  days.  For  three  days, 
then,  should  his  exhibition-room  be  open,  and  his  beau- 
tiful bride  should  mock  the  gaze  of  admiring  throngs 
with  her  rare,  and  ravishing  loveliness.  It  was  true, 
there  was  a  risk  in  the  wild  attempt  —  she  might  die 
in  her  long  trance,  and  his  soul  be  stained  with  a  fear- 
ful crime  —  but  he  loved  her  only  that  she  promised 
to  bring  glory  to  his  brow,  and  even  death,  when 
weighed  in  the  balance  with  fame,  was  found  wanting. 
While  the  sudden  thought  yet  thrilled  from  his  soul  to 
his  fingers,  he  applied  himself  to  his  purpose.  First, 
he  carved  out  a  pedestal  in  the  fashion  of  a  balcony, 
whose  balustrade,  covered  with  vines  and  flowers, 
should  conceal  all  of  her  form  but  her  exquisite  bust 
Then  he  fashioned  a  light  and  graceful  coif  with  flow- 
ing waves  of  hair,  that  should  cover  her  own  raven 
tresses.  Then  purchased  the  subtle  draught. 

Nina  was  reclining  on  a  heap  of  cushions  in  a  dim, 


FROM   WESTERN    WOODS.  219 

cool,  pleasant  apartment,  whose  perfumed  air  was 
musical  with  the  murmur  of  a  fountain,  and  whose 
octagonal  sides  were  of  trellis-work  shadowed  with 
luxurious  foliage.  It  was  morning.  By  her  side, 
upon  the  floor,  was  a  silver  salver,  holding  fruit,  and  a 
goblet  of  wine. 

Sipping  from  the  goblet,  she  waited  for  her  hus- 
band. He  came;  and,  asking  her  if  the  wine  was 
pleasant,  he  sat  by  her  side  and  held  her  hand. 

"  Laurens!  do  you  love  me,  Laurens?  "  she  asked, 
raising  her  large  eyes  to  his  face  with  a  smile.  "  I 
feel  so  dreamy  and  pleasant,  and  all  in  a  thrill  of 
strange  sensalions.  I  should  like  to  hear  your  low, 
deep  voice  whispering  its  dear  eloquence  in  my  fas- 
cinated ear.  Hold  my  head  against  your  bosom,  while 
I  sleep,  and  dream  of  you." 

The  sculptor  took  the  bright  being  in  his  arms, 
and  smoothed  down  her  silken  hair;  caressing  her 
and  murmuring  sweet  words  of  tenderness,  as  if  all 
his  soul  was  melting  into  love,  and  flowing  out  in  his 
low,  impassioned  tones;  gazing  down,  all  the  while, 
with  deep,  intense  eyes  into  her  radiant  face. 

A  soft  languor  weighed  down  the  fair  eyelids  of 
the  young  wife,  but  a  radiant  smile  hovered  around 
her  lips,  replying  to  his  caresses. 

With  that  beautiful  smile  still  lingering  over  her 
rare"  countenance,  she  sank  into  a  deep,  deep  sleep. 


220  FRESH    LEAVES 

One  would  not  think  her  living,  so  motionless  grew 
her  bosom,  and  so  perfectly  colorless  and  marble-like 
her  face. 

Laurens  Delano  gazed  upon  her  for  a  long  time 
after  this  strange  trance  had  crept  over  her  vital  en- 
ergies—  gazed  as  if  he  could  not  take  away  his  eyes 
from  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  the  still,  white  form 
he  held.  Then  he  pressed  a  burning  kiss  upon  the 
pallid  forehead  of  his  young  bride,  and  bore  her  from 
the  room. 


Throng  after  throng  of  eager  visitors  poured  into 
the  room  of  the  sculptor,  to  behold  the  gem  of  art — 
the  rare  master-piece,  the  triumph  of  his  profession — 
the  sleeping  maiden  of  Laurens  Delano. 

Some  gazed  in  breathless  admiration,  as  if  a  tone 
would  waken  that  perfect  form  to  life — some  murmur- 
ed low  exclamations  of  surprise  and  delight  —  some 
burst  into  raptures  of  applause,  and  cast  wreaths  and 
costly  gifts  at  the  feet  of  the  young  sculptor,  who  sat, 
apparently  heedless  of  everything  else,  leaning  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  gazing  upon  the  object  of  his 
triumph.  There  was  the  sleeping  maiden,  with  her 
rounded  and  polished  arm  twined  about  a  slender  col- 
umn, and  her  beautiful  head  drooping  upon  the  arm. 
One  could  almost  see  the  smile  creep  out  and  dimple 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.   \      221 

around  her  small,  sweet  mouth,  and  the  white  bosom 
swell  with  a  living  heart.  Never  before  was  marble 
moulded  into  anything  so  spiritual,  so  delicately. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  though  Laurens  Delano 
had  clasped  that  fair  creature  in  all  the  radiance  of 
life  to  his  breast,  with  scarcely  an  emotion  of  tender- 
ness, yet  now  that  he  saw  her  there,  still,  and  white, 
and  mute,  he  loved  her  with  a  wild,  deep  fervor.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  his  hands  had  moulded  that 
lovely  form  —  that  she  was  in  reality  the  creation  of 
his  mind  —  the  embodiment  of  his  genius.  And,  as 
this,  he  loved  her;  he  began  to  wish  that  she  had 
life  —  had  the  power  to  love,  and  answer  unto  the 
vague  yearning  of  his  soul.  He  forgot  that  she  was 
a  reality ;  that  she  would  wake  from  this  deep  trance, 
after  a  lapse  of  many  hours.  His  cheek  flushed  at 
the  praise  of  the  crowd,  and  he  felt  the  laurel  wreath 
upon  his  brow — but  he  was  not  satisfied — fame  was 
not  the- bewildering  angel  he  had  .deemed  it — then, 
even  in  the  moment  of  his  fullest  triumph,  came  the 
yearning  for  a  being  like  that  statue,  to  share  in  his 
glory.  And,  motionless  almost  as  it,  he  sat  through 
the  first  day,  never  turning  his  deep  eyes  from  that 
form. 

All  that  night,  with  the  dim  light  of  a  solitary 
lamp  falling  over  it,  he  gazed  upon  it;  and,  when 

the    throng  was    admitted    the    next   morning,   they 
10 


222  FRESH     LEAVES 

found  him  sitting  in  the  same  position  that  he  occu- 
pied on  the  preceding  day.  Some  smiled,  and  re- 
marked about  his  conduct  —  but  he  did  not  heed 
them: 

There  was  another  person  present,  who  was  as 
wrapped  up  in  admiration  of  the  statue  as  the  sculp- 
tor. All  through  the  hours  for  exhibition,  on  both 
days,  he  remained  not  far  from  Signor  Delano,  com- 
pletely and  intensely  absorbed  in  the  beauty  of  the 
statue.  He  was  a  young  American  —  a  poet  — with 
a  pale,  intellectual  countenance,  and  mournful,  proud, 
large  eyes.  He,  too,  loved  what  he  deemed  to  be  a 
lifeless  form  of  marble — worshiped  it,  because  it  was 
the  ideal  of  all  the  beautiful  images  in  his  soul. 

The  third  and  last  day  of  the  exhibition  arrived: 
the  sculptor  and  the  poet  were  side  by  side — so  close, 
that  each  might  hear  the  throbbing  of  the  other's 
pulse.  The  room  was  crowded  with  visitors  —  all 
eyes  were  bent  on  the  sleeping  maiden — a  breathless 
hush  filled  the  apartment j'^ey  fancied  they  could 
see  the  rosy  tint  shoot  up  into  her  cheek  —  it  seemed 
so  real.  And  reality  it  was  —  it  was  no  fancy.  The 
straining  eyes  of  Laurens  Delano  marked  that  color; 
and,  as  a  comprehension  of  the  truth  forced  itself,  at 
last,  upon  his  mind,  a  wild  gasp  shivered  up  from  his 
bosom.  He  would  have  rushed  to  the  statue,  and 
dropped  the  curtain  over  the  niche  where  it  stood  — 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  223 

he  would  have  cleared  the  crowded  room,  before  it 
was  too  late  —  but  he  had  no  power  to  rise. 

More  earnest  and  intense  grew  every  gaze  —  more 
deathly  the  stillness,  that  was  broken  with  no  sound, 
save  the  quick  fluttering  breath  of  the  multitude. 
Softly  the  bosom  of  the  statue  began  to  heave — the 
lips  parted  —  a  warm  glow  stole  over  its  cheek — the 
long  lashes  quivered  on  their  crimson  resting  place  — 
the  white  lids  slowly  unclosed  —  the  dark,  soft  eyes 
of  the  vision  rested  on  the  spectators. 

"  0  heavens !  where  am  I  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

These  words  aroused  the  poet.  He  sprang  to  her 
side,  took  the  form  from  the  pedestal,  and,  before  the 
astonished  crowd  had  moved  a  finger,  had  disappeared 
through  a  private  entrance. 

At  that  moment,  Delano  fell  upon  the  floor  in 
mighty  convulsions ;  his  strong  nature  was  a  wreck. 
There  was  no  groan,  no  gasp,  no  sigh;  the  crimson 
life-torrent  gushed  out  over  his  white  lips  —  he  was 
dead! 


Many  thousand  miles  away  from  the  studio  of  the 
sculptor,  Nina  and  Clare  Mather  were  silently  bless- 
ing each  other,  with  the  power  of  their  love. 

Though  their  home  was  in  the  chilly  north,  yet 
Nina  blossomed  more  sweetly  than  any  of  the  rare 


T24  FRESH    LEAVES 

• 

exotics  which  surrounded  her.  A  rich  glow  of  sunset 
stole  blushingly  through  curtains  of  crimson  silk,  and, 
creeping  over  the  costly  carpet,  rested  lovingly  upon 
the  radiant  form  of  the  beautiful  Italian.  She  was 
sitting  on  a  heap  of  cushions,  with  her  lute  in  her 
lap,  and  her  bright  head  resting  upon  the  knee  of 
her  poet-husband.  With  a  wild  and  bewildering 
sweetness,  her  dainty  fingers  swept  over  the  string's 
of  her  lute,  and  her  voice  gushed  out  in  tones  whose 
exquisite  melody  was  eloquent  of  love;  and  ever  as 
she  sang  she  raised  her  large,  soft,  passionate  eyes  to 
meet  the  fond,  deep  gaze  of  her  husband;  and  her 
bright  cheek  dimpled  with  a  beautiful  smile,  as  his 
loving  fingers  thridded  her  black,  flowing  hair.  Nina 
had  learned  to  speak  our  language,  but  she  chose  to 
sing  in  her  own  beautiful  tongue ;  and,  doubtless,  the 
words  of  her  song  were  very  sweet — for  the  heart  of 
the  poet  throbbed  quicker  at  her  music,  and  his  face 
was  eloquent  of  happiness,  as  she  laid  aside  her  lute, 
and  he  drew  her,  tenderly,  close  to  his  side  on  the 
sinking  velvet  of  the  sofa. 

And,  as  the  crimson  gleams  of  sunset  stole  out  as 
silently  as  stars,  and  the  dim,  dreamy  shadows  of 
night  came  in,  the  poet  and  his  bride  sat  together — 
while  the  faint  murmur  of  words  of  tenderness  crept 
softly  through  the  pleasant  apartment. 


FROM    WESTERX    WOODS.  225 


MOTHER  AND   DAUGHTER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ft  fTUNK — link — tinkle! "rang  out  the  little  silvery- 
JL  toned  bell  through  the  boudoir  of  Isabel  Linn. 
The  white  hand  of  that  peerless  lady  replaced  the 
soft- toned  bell  upon  an  antique-mosaic  flower- table, 
and  she  relapsed  into  her  former  attitude  of  elegant 
repose.  The  boudoir  befitted  nothing  but  the  beau- 
tiful being  who  was  its  mistress.  It  was  a  small  room 
of  circular  shape  —  looped,  like  a  tent,  from  the  cen- 
ter of  the  arched  roof,  with  rich  curtains  of  rosy  siik 
sweeping  down  the  sides,  and  caught  back  from  the 
glittering  mirrors,  lovely  statues,  soft  pictures,  slight 
tables,  and  rare  vases,  placed  between  slender  pillars 
of  marble.  In  every  unoccupied  recess,  luxurious 
heaps  of  velvet  cushions,  the  same  soft  color  as  the 
drapery,  were  thrown.  The  lady  herself  reclined  ou 


226  FRESH    LEAVES 

a  low,  yielding  sofa,  nearly  concealed  beneath  the 
splendid  dress  which  floated  over  it,  but  whose  rose- 
color  still  softened  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  bare 
arm,  and  the  rich  glow  of  the  round  cheek  nestled 
upon  it  It  was  evening  —  and  a  lamp,  tinted  with 
the  same  softening  tinge,  flooded  the  beautiful  apart- 
ment with  a  dreamy  and  eloquent  light,  that  made 
the  fair  ornaments,  the  sweet  pictures,  the  perfumed 
flowers,  the  young  statues,  and  the  elegant  lady  ap- 
pear more  fair,  and  sweet,  and  young,  and  elegant  still. 
The  lady  was  evidently  dressed  for  an  assembly. 
Her  fine,  voluptuous  form  was  draped  in  rich  crimson 
satin,  with  an  overdress  of  exquisite  lace,  rare  and 
delicate.  Ornaments  of  gold  and  rubies  caught  the 
lace  upon  her  snowy  bosom,  and  held  it  up  from  her 
exceedingly  lovely  arms ;  and  from  them  it  waved  back 
and  fell  around  —  like — like  nothing;  for  nothing  was 
ever  so  beautiful  !  Her  black  hair  was  twisted  with 
rubies,  and  wound  around  her  head  in  magniticent 
folds.  Her  style  of  beauty  was  so  brilliant,  that  all  the 
jewels,  upon  her  hands,  and  arms,  and  bosom,  and  hair, 
seemed  part  of  her  loveliness,  and  were  not  misplaced. 
If  the  rubies  were  bright,  her  lips  were  as  red,  and 
her  eyes  as  flashing;  and  the  beautiful  contrast  of  her 
raven  hair,  waved  back  from  her  high,  white  forehead 
and  haughtily-curved  neck,  was  still  more  dazzling. 
After  ringing  the  silver  bell,  she  sank  into  her  former 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  227 

liwtless  attitude,  and,  when  a  servant  entered  at  the 
the  door,  she  said,  without  raising  her  eyes, 

"  When  Mr.  Cleveland  Merefort  calls,  show  him  in 
here." 

The  servant  departed,  and  she  was  again  alone 
with  her  thoughts.  That  they  were  pleasant,  was 
shown  by  the  gay  smile  which  broke  gradually  over 
her  face  —  the  rich  lips  parting,  the  fair  cheeks  crim- 
soning, and  the  dark  eyes  shining  like  deep  waters 
beneath  their  drooped  lashes.  Isabel  Linn  was  not 
young  —  she  was  thirty -five,  and  looked  twenty-five; 
but  she  was  peerlessly  and  voluptuously  beautiful; 
more  splendidly  so  than  a  younger  lady  could  be.  A 
strong  will  and  powerful  passions  breathed  in  all  her 
attitudes,  and  glances,  and  features  —  the  motion  of 
her  firm  but  graceful  foot,  the  curve  of  her  delicate 
nostrils,  the  superb  turn  to  her  full,  red  lips,  the 
sleeping  fire  in  her  large,  slow-moving  eyes,  made 
her  a  fascinating  and  fearful  creature.  But  she  had 
made  it  a  study  through  all  her  life,  till  she  had  at- 
tained a  wonderful  degree  of  self-possession.  There 
was  something  that  breathed  of  power  and  passion 
in  the  very  calmness  of  her  slow,  graceful  motions. 
And  now,  though  there  were  a  thousand  emotions 
making  her  heart  throb,  she  stirred  not  one  of  her 
delicate  fingers,  nor  the  small  slipper  just  revealed 
beneath  her  flowing  dress. 


228  FRESH     LEAVES 

Presently  the  door  again  opened  softly.  Her  bosom 
heaved  quickly,  and  a  deep  flush  broke  over  her  check, 
and,  with  a  smile  of  ineffable  brightness,  she  slowly 
raised  her  deep,  bewildering  eyes  toward  the  door. 
But  she  paused  in  the  welcome  that  rose  to  her 
lips,  and  the  flush  went  back  from  her  face  —  for  it 
was  not  yet  him  who  had  come. 

A  young  girl  stood  timidly  within  the  room,  hesi- 
tating whether  to  go  or  remain,  for  the  lady  did  not 
bid  her  enter.  She  was  sweet  and  fair — not  more 
than  fifteen — with  a  slight  form,  and  hair  like  an  an- 
gel's wing,  changing,  and  bright,  and  golden.  There 
was  something  in  her  gentle  hesitation  very  different 
from  the  proud  repose  of  the  beautiful  woman  be- 
fore her.  Her  dress  was  of  delicate  white,  and  some 
bright  roses  lay  on  her  bosom  —  her  face  was  the 
purest  thing  out  of  heaven! 

"  You  may  come,"  at  length  said  the .  lady. 

The  maiden  glided  in,  and  sat  down  on  a  cushion 
by  the  sofa 

"  Effie,  my  daughter!  "  said  the  woman,  with  unu- 
sual tenderness,  for  she  was  chary  of  the  affection  she 
bestowed  on  her  only  child ;  but  love  was  busy  at  the 
mother's  heart,  and  love  softens  the  manner  toward 
all  Wild,  wild  dreams  of  love  were  waking  in  her 
bosom,  and  changed  her  cold  bearing  unconsciously. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  fair  girl,  hesitatingly,  raising 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  229 

her  sweet  face,  and  then  dropping  her  eyes  till  the 
silken  lashes  touched  the  cheek,  where  a  delicate  glow 
was  wavering  out  into  a  blush ;  "  mother,"  —  and  her 
cheeks  were  crimson  —  "  You  know  I  am  but  a  child, 
only  fifteen ;  and  I  have  never  yet  kept  anything  from 
you,  and  may  I  not  tell  you  bow  very,  very  happy  I 
am  ?  and  how  my  heart  is  still  trembling  with  its  new 
delight?  You  know — " 

The  bashful  girl  paused,  and  the  mother,  wonder- 
ing if  that  mere  child  could  have  found  a  lover,  laid 
her  white  hand  on  those  brown  curls  to  reassure  her. 

"  You  know  Cleveland  Merefort,  mother  ?  " 

"Yes!  yes!  what  of  him?"  suddenly  exclaimed  the 
mother,  withdrawing  her  hand,  and  fixing  her  burning 
eyes  intently  on  the  blushing  face  before  her;  "  what 
of  him,  Effie  Linn?" 

"  Oh,  mother !  you  will  not  be  offended,  you  cannot 
be ;  he  is  so  good,  and  manly,  <Cnd  gifted !  I  could  not 
think  it  a  harm  to  love  him.  He  is  so  beautiful  and 
gentle,  and  loves  me  so  earnestly  —  I  am  sure  he 
does  " —  murmured  the  timid  girl,  as  her  cheek  grew 
pale,  and  the  tears  sprang  instantly  to  her  soft  eyes 

"  Indeed !  did  he  tell  you  this  ?  did  he  say  he  loved 
you?"  asked  the  lady,  in  a  tone  of  withering  contempt. 
"  Or  are  you  only  guessing  at  all  this  happiness  ?  " 

"  He  did  tell  me,  that  he  loved  me,"  was  the  proud 
and  earnest  reply ;  "  and  I  knew  that  it  was  truth  he 
10* 


230  FKE8H    LEAVES 

uttered,  for  his  eyes  were  solemn,  and  looked  into 
mine  so  gently,  and  his  lips  trembled  as  he  spoke 
these  happy  words,  and,  when  he  drew  me  close  to 
his  heart,  I  felt  it  beat  so  rapidly,  and  — " 

"  Effie — Effie — Effie ! "  almost  shrieked  the  woman. 

"  You  frighten  me,  mother !  you  look  so  fearful ! 
What  have  I  done  ?  Is  it  wrong  to  love  him  ?  Tell 
me,  dear  mother,  is  it?"  pleaded  the  quivering  voice 
of  the  young  girl,  shrinking  from  the  intense  gaze  of 
those  dilated  and  burning  eyes. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me  so !  "  she  still  pleaded,  as  that 
motionless  look,  and  the  spot  of  livid  red  on  the 
cheeks  of  her  mother,  made  her  tremble. 

"Effie  Linn,  remember!"  was  uttered  in  the  dis- 
tinct tone  of  deep  passion,  "  you  will  never  iriarry  that 
man  —  never !  Receive  no  more  vows  of  love  from 
him!  cast  him  off — forget  him  —  or  you  are  no  child 
of  mine !  remember !  " 

"  Cast  him  off  ?  never  —  never !  "  murmured  the 
young  creature,  whom  this  sudden  shock  to  her  sweet 
happiness  startled  from  a  whole  world  of  life-dreams 
to  a  sense  of  utter  misery ;  and,  with  these  words,  she 
slid  from  the  ottoman  insensible  upon  the  rich  carpet, 
whose  gay  hues  mocked  the  pallor  of  her  cheek. 

Again  the  bell  sounded,  a  sharper  summons  than 
before;  and,  to  the  servant  who  appeared,  the  lady 
spoke  in  a  cold,  calm  tone : 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  231 

"  Summon  her  maid,  and  assist  my  daughter  to  her 
room  —  she  is  not  well." 

The  moid  came,  and  they  bore  the  fainting  girl 
from  the  apartment.  The  moment  they  disappeared, 
Isabel  Linn  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  as 
if  to  feel  if  all  traces  of  her  passion  were  smoothed 
away.  The  game  she  had  to  play  was  now  more 
difficult,  and  at  this  moment  required  all  her  skill. 

Resuming  her  former  position,  with  her  feet  half 
hidden  in  a  cushion,  and  her  head  nestled  in  the  high 
corner  of  the  sofa,  she  arranged  her  glittering  dress 
around  her,  she  folded  her  small  hands,  quietly  smiled 
a  dreamy  smile,  and  fixed  her  languishing  eyes  with 
a  still  look  upon  the  carpet. 

Five  minutes  afterward,  Cleveland  Merefort  stood 
within  the  room.  He  glanced  around  the  exquisite 
boudoir,  with  a  look  of  surprise,  mingled  slightly  with 
embarrassment.  He  was  a  very  handsome  man,  of 
thirty,  with  a  polished  and  frank  bearing  —  with  a 
singularly  fascinating  smile,  though  he  seldom  smiled — 
dignified  almost  to  coldness  —  evidently  gifted  —  evi- 
dently a  most  perfect  gentleman.  There  was  a  kind 
of  sadness  in  his  eyes  and  reserve  in  his  manner,  which 
told  of  passionate  feeling  repressed  and  hidden  —  a 
kind  of  mournfulness  in  his  smile  which  went  quick  to 
the  heart  —  a  kind  of  pride  that  mingled  with  his 
reserve,  which  made  him  deeply  interesting;  and  all 


232  FRESH     LEAVES 

these  things  said  that  he  was  evidently  a  talented  poor 
man.  And  this  was,  perhaps,  the  reason  why  he  had 
never  loved  or  married  hitherto. 

"  Mr.  Merefort,"  said  the  lady,  raising  her  dark  eyes 
slowly,  with  a  sweet  smile  upon  her  lip,  and  holding 
out  her  small  hand,  without  rising  from  the  sofa. 

As  he  advanced  toward  her  with  slight  confusion, 
her  heart  told  her  that  this  consciousness  was  not,  as 
she  had  fondly  hoped,  an  evidence  of  her  power,  but 
was  owing  to  the  thought  that  Effie  had  revealed  the 
new  relation  in  which  he  stood  to  her.  This  then  was 
the  mortifying  cause  of  his  frequent  calls  and  delicate 
attention.  The  deference  of  his  services  were  those 
he  paid  to  his  future  mother,  instead  of — oh!  she 
could  have  gnashed  her  teeth  in  bitterness!  but  it 
would  not  do  then,  and  she  looked  up  so  eloquently. 

"  Sit  here,"  she  said,  retaining  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  motioning  to  the  ottoman  where  Effie  had  sat 

The  gentleman  felt  grateful  and  gratified ;  for  lie 
had  no  doubt  now  but  that  she  was  prepared  to  receive 
him  as  her  son-in-law ;  and  previously,  notwithstanding 
her  marked  kindness  to  him,  he  had  entertained  a  fear 
that,  his  poverty  would  be  an  objection  to  his  claiming 
the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  the  rich  widow  Linn. 

"Is  Miss  Effie  well  this  evening?"  he  asked,  taking 
the  seat  she  assigned  him  close  by  her  side. 

"A  little  indisposed  —  nothing  serious,"  was  the 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  233 

reply ;  "  she  retired  to  her  room  a  few  moments  ago." 

"Indeed!  "  was  the  remark,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  I  have  not  ordered  the  carriage  for  an  hour  yet," 
continued  Mrs.  Linn,  sweetly,  "  and  we  will  have  a  quiet 
chat,  which  will  be  charming,  will  it  not  ?  By-the-by, 
do  you  fancy  the  arrangement  of  my  boudoir  ?  " 

"  It  is  delightful  —  a  fairy  palace,"  replied  her  vis- 
itor, glancing  through  the  elegant  apartment  with  a 
pleased  eye.  "  HOAV  very  kind  she  is  to  give  me  this 
opportunity  to  speak,"  thought  he ;  and  the  beautiful 
lady,  whom  he  had  always  admired,  appeared  doubly 
brilliant  and  lovely  to  him  then. 

But  if  he  had  the  opportunity,  he  had  no  way  to 
improve  it;  for  the  fascinating  woman  reclining  on 
the  sofa  before  him,  in  her  splendid  attire,  with  the 
rosy  light  falling  over  her,  fixed  her  large,  dark  eyes 
upon  him,  and  murmured,  in  a  low  voice  of  music,  a 
thousand  eloquent  things ;  leading  his  thoughts  even 
from  the  subject  which  engrossed  them. 

She  spoke  of  beauty,  and  he  felt  how  very  beautiful 
she  was.  She  spoke  of  love;  and  he  realized  that 
she  was  capable  of  intense  love ;  that  passionate  emo- 
tions throbbed  beneath  the  bosom  heaving  in  those 
rich  folds  of  satin  and  lace.  Burning  words  of  poetry 
fell  in  liquid  cadences  from  her  lips ;  and  he  wondered 
at,  and  then  was  carried  away  by  her  irresistible  elo- 
quence. He  was  a  worshiper  at  the  shrine  of  beauty, 


234  FRESH     LEAVES 

genius,  poetry, love;  and  here  before  him  was  a  lovely, 
nay,  a  glorious  woman,  radiant  with  one  and  gifted  with 
another,  breathing  the  third,  and  glowing  and  blushing 
with  the  last  The  b<ill,  and  even  the  sweet  Effie  in 
her  lonely  room,  were  forgotten.  He  bent  forward  with 
smiling  eyes  and  heightened  color  to  listen ;  his  own  elo- 
quence, so  often  concealed  by  reserve,  was  awakened, 
and  he  rivaled  her  in  the  utterance  of  beautiful  senti- 
ments. Oh !  it  was  a  feast  of  intellect  and  passion. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this,  the  carriage  was  announ- 
ced ;  and  the  splendid  siren,  with  a  gay  laugh  at  their 
forgetfulness  of  time,  took  the  arm  of  her  companion, 
and  they  were  whirled  away  to  the  ball ;  while  young 
Effie  lay  moaning  upon  her  restless  pillow. 

It  was  late  when  the  two  entered  the  brilliant  hall 
Many  eyes  were  centered  upon  them.  They  were  cer- 
tainly the  most  stiiking  couple  in  the  room. 

Mrs.  Linn  was  the  leader  of  the  ton,  and  the  hand- 
some Cleveland  was  even  more  interesting  than  usual ; 
something  sparkled  through  his  dignity  that  was  very 
pleasing.  He  was  always  a  favourite  in  society,  for 
though  poor,  he  was  noble,  fine-looking  and  peculiar. 

The  mammas  and  daughters  all  liked  him  as  a  vis- 
itor and  companion ;  but  the  former  warned  the  latter 
to  beware  of  anything  more;  which  fortunately  was 
unnecessary  —  the  reserve  and  particular  taste  of  the 
gentleman  keeping  him  from  any  declarations,  which 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  235 

might  alarm  parents,  and  please  young  ladies.  Cleve- 
land was  a  fine"  waltzer,  so  was  the  superb  widow. 
They  waltzed  till  every  eye  was  upon  them,  it  was 
so  beautiful.  They  floated  around  in  the  music,  per- 
fume, and  light  The  lace  dress  waved  and  the 
satin  glistened  about  that  lovely  form ;  her  chi:ek  was 
glowing,  and  her  rubies  flashing.  Cleveland  himself 
was  enchanted ;  it  was  perfectly  entrancing  to  hold 
that  magnificent  creature,  and  to  circle,  and  glide,  and 
float  away  in  that  bright  atmosphere,  breathing  with 
bewitching  melody.  He  felt  his  companion,  dizzy  with 
the  motion,  press  closer  to  him,  and  he  wished  that  it 
was  Effie  that  was  sharing  this  delight;  and  he  whirl- 
ed on  till  the  bright  head  sunk  on  his  bosom,  and  then 
he  was  obliged  to  seat  his  beautiful  partner.  No,  no, 
he  did  not  wish  it  was  Effie,  was  his  after- thought  — 
not  Effie  with  all  those  eyes  upon  her,  bold  and  ad- 
miring ;  he  was  almost  sorry  it  was  Effie's  mother.  But 
he  forgot  this  presently,  and  after  a  time  they  waltzed 
again.  It  was  a  brilliant  party,  and  this  couple,  for  two, 
were  delighted.  It  was  late  when  they  drove  home, 
but  the  spirits  of  Mrs.  Linn  were  hardly  yet  fatigued. 
"You  will  call  to-morrow?"  she  said,  as  Cleveland 
Jeft  her  at  the  door.  The  flattered  man  consented 
with  pleasure,  to  come  to  a  private  tea  with  Effie  and 
herself  in  the  boudoir — for  Mrs.  Linn  added  this  to 
her  invitation. 


236  FRESH    LEAVES 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  lady  did  not  wake  her  maid  when  she  reached 
her  room,  but,  unfastening  her  heavy  ornaments, 
she  laid  them  aside,  and  threw  herself  upon  her  couch ; 
though  very  weary,  she  did  not  sleep.  Her  feelings 
were  of  very  mingled  character;  triumph,  for  she 
saw  that  she  impressed  Cleveland  Merefort;  bitter- 
ness, that  he  had  not  paid  homage  to  her  power  before, 
but  had  dared  to  pass  her  by,  and  bestow  his  love  on 
a  mere  sweet  child;  anxiety,  for  the  result  of  the 
game  she  played ;  and,  taxing  her  ingenuity  to  know 
best  h'  J  to  manage  Effie,  and  compel  her  to  resign 
him  of  her  own  consent. 

She  lay  sleeplessly  till  long  past  sunrise,  busy  with 
her  thoughts,  and  then,  throwing  on  her  morning-gown, 
she  sought  the  chamber  of  Effie.  The  fair  girl  lay 
upon  the  bed,  dressed  in  the  same  attire,  and  with 
the  same  roses  lying  withered  on  her  bosom  as  on  the 
evening  previous.  She  had  not  undreosed,  but  was 
now  sleeping  nervously.  Her  eyelids  were  stained 
with  tears;  her  cheek  was  feverish,  ay  •  she  moaned 
und  muttered  in  her  dreams. 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         237 

Her  mother  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and  looked 
upon  her.  A  thrill  of  remorse  shot  through  her  heart 
as  she  gazed ;  but  it  was  momentary  —  she  herself 
could  not  be  the  sacrifice,  her  child  must  be.  She 
reasoned  that  her  love  Avas  strongest,  for  it  was  the 
love  of  her  passionate,  and  developed  nature.  No!  — 
Effie  must  be  the  sacrifice! 

The  eyes  of  the  maiden  opened  presently,  as  if  she 
was  awakened  by  the  gaze  fixed  upon  her. 

"  Oh !  mother,"  she  murmured  pleadingly. 

"  My  darling  child,  did  what  I  said  last  night  dis- 
tress you  so  much?  I  was  afraid  that  you  were 
suffering,  and  have  come  thus  early  to  talk  with  you 
about  it." 

"  You  have  come  to  take  back  those  cruel  words  — 
to  take  them  all  back!  I  know  you  have,  you  speak 
so  kindly,"  said  Effie,  eagerly. 

"  Not  to  take  them  back,"  said  the  mother,  in  the 
gentlest  tone,  "  but  to  give  you  reasons  for  what  I 
said  —  good  reasons,  that  will  reconcile  you  to  them." 

"  Reconcile  me ! "  replied  the  fair  girl  mournfully, 
laying  her  small  hands  together  tightly  on  her  bosom. 

"  Effie,  I  will  take  you  into  my  confidence.  You 
dare  not  betray  the  trust  of  your  mother  —  you  can 
not  rival  her!  /  love  Cleveland  Merefort  as  never 
woman  loved.  Speak,  my  child !  your  mother's  hap- 
piness is  in  your  keeping." 


238  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  Do  I  not,  too,  love  him,  wildly,  devotedly  ?  Moth- 
er, it  would  kill  me  to  give  him  up !  —  mother  — - 
mother  —  mother !  " 

"  Listen,  Effie.  I  would  not  be  selfish.  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  selfish;  but  I  am  older  than  you,  and 
know  the  heart  better.  I  know  that  with  you  it  is 
but  a  school-girl  affection  —  in  two  years  you  will 
smile  at  the  idea  of  dying  for  love !  But  with  me  it 
is  life,  hope,  being,  all !  If  I  thought  that  you  would 
suffer  in  all  as  I  have  already  suffered  since  you  told 
me  that  he  loved  you,  I  would  sooner  perish  than 
require  it" 

"But,  mother,  he  loves  me  —  shall  I  wrong  myself 
and  him?"  I 

"  Act  coldly  to  him,  and  he  will  forget  you ;  only 
consent,  and  I  can  make  him  love  me." 

The  young  girl  hid  her  eyes  and  moaned  — "  Me 
er  —  mother!" 

"Listen  again,  Effie — I  have  not  told  you  all — • 
you  cannot  dream  how  utterly  my  hopes  are  fixed  on 
this.  Effie,  I  will  reveal  my  heart  to  you  —  this  is 
my  first  love,  as  it  is  my  last.  From  my  infancy  till  I 
was  married,  I  suffered  the  pangs  of  poverty;  I  was 
beautiful  —  but  beauty  was  a  mockery !  —  for  I  was 
poor!  I  longed  for  the  means  of  gratifying  my  tastes — 
for  arraying  my  loveliness  in  jewels,  and  silks,  and 
laces.  I  longed  to  be  a  belle  —  to  be  admired.  Oh! 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  239 

J  forgot  that  there  was  anything  to  be  prized,  but 
wealth.  In  vain  my  mother  warned  me.  At  your 
age  1  married  a  man  whom  I  could  not  like  —  but  he 
was  rich  —  very,  very  rich.  What  mattered  it,  if  he 
was  old,  and  ugly,  and  ignorant?  —  he  was  rich  as 
Croesus.  I  was  his  wife  —  I  lived  in  splendor,  and 
was  courted,  flattered,  and  envied.  I  was  beautiful 
and  wealthy,  but  I  was  miserable.  I  hated  your 
father  —  1  could  not  endure  his  caresses.  If  he  had 
not  loved  me,  I  should  have  been  grateful  to  him  for 
the  luxury  that  surrounded  me ;  but  his  love  —  the 
love  of  one  so  ignorant,  and  withered-up,  and  vile  — 
was  dreadful.  Yet  all  the  ten  long  years  he  lived 
with  me,  I  was  compelled  to  conceal  this;  for,  should 
he  know  it  at  his  death,  but  my  third  of  his  immense 
wealth  would  be  mine.  He  was  blind  to  my  dislike, 
ana  at  his  death  left  all  to  me.  At  last  I  was  free  — 
free  as  the  wind  —  with  all  things  at  my  command. 
You,  Effie,  were  my  child,  and  everything  you  asked 
was  yours  —  you  liave  always  been  gratified  in  every 
wish  —  but  all  this  time  that  I  loved  you,  and  cher- 
ished you,  could  I  dream  in  what  way  you  were  to 
rise  up  and  crush  me  ?  " 

Again  the  young  girl  moaned  helplessly. 

"  At  last  I  have  loved !  —  with  all  the  intensity  of 
•sentiments  and  passions,  hoarded  up  and  stifled  for 
long  years,  I  love.  To  saj  I  love,  is  an  empty  term. 


240  FRESH     LEAVES 

I  feel  that  my  very  reason  is  bound  up  in  this  feel- 
ing. Effie,  could  you  be  happy,  married  to  this  man; 
and  your  mother,  perhaps  —  I  feel  so  "  —  and  she 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead  — "  perhaps  a  ma- 
niac, or,  happily,  in  her  grave?  Never  !  And  I 
would  not  have  said  this  —  I  would  have  suffered 
and  died  —  but  th'at  I  am  convinced  that  your  hap- 
piness is  not  really  concerned  in  this.  Remember, 
you  are  a  mere  child  —  just  from  your  books  and 
aprons  —  it  cannqt  be!  But  you  say  nothing — you 
forget  that  I  am  your  mother,  that  my  life  is  in  your 
childish  hands!  you  will  marry  Cleveland  Merefort!" 

The  woman,  who  had  always  been  so  cold,  and 
proud,  and  calm,  that  the  young  girl  had  almost 
feared  her,  was  now  on  her  knees  before  her  child. 
It  was  enough,  and  too  much. 

"  Mother,  rise.  I  did  not  speak,  because  I  could 
not  —  but  I  am  resolved.  I  can  not,  after  what  you 
have  said,  marry  that  man.  I  only  hope  that  he  will 
love  you.  Go  —  go,  if  you  please,  mother !  I  want 
to  be  alone." 

"  Bless  you,  my  child  !  my  darling,  noble  child  ! 
Of  course,  your  own  good  sense  will  suggest  what 
is  the  proper  manner  for  you  to  observe  toward  Mr. 
Merefort.  Try  and  forget  this,  dearest,  and  I  will  at 
length  be  happy."  '  . 

She  kissed  the  cold  brow  of  her  daughter,  and  left 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         241 

the  room.  "Well  satisfied  with  the  result  of  this  skill- 
ful appeal  to  the  heart  of  poor  Effie,  and  fatigued 
with  all  this  excitement,  she  again  sought  her  couch, 
and  slept,  undisturbed,  for  many  hours;  while  the 
one,  whom  she  had  called  on  to  make  this  bitter  sac- 
rifice, was  pacing  her  room  with  the  slow,  heavy  steps 
of  misery. 

It  was  after  dinner,  before  she  summoned  her  maid 
to  assist  in  dressing. 

"  Which  is  the  most  becoming,  Margaret,  this  green 
velvet,  or  this  black  one  ?  " 

"  The  green  velvet  makes  Madame  look  magnifique, 
the  black  very  charming;  the  black  makes  Madame's 
eyes  look  very  bright  and  her  lips  red." 

"  I  will  wear  the  black  this  evening,  Margaret,  as  I 
lo  not  wish  to  look  magnificent  in  my  boudoir." 

So,  when  the  maid  had  finished  attiring  her,  her 
jnistress  was  herself  pleased  with  the  plain,  elegant, 
black  velvet,  and  with  the  delicate  network  of  gold 
thrown  over  the  back  of  her  glossy  hair,  together 
with  plain  gold  bracelets.  She  stood  long,  studying 
this  style  in  her  mirror.  Her  hair  was  done  up  high 
in  folds,  and  shown  blackly  through  the  chaste  and 
glittering  network;  the  boddice  of  her  dress  was  close 
and  plain ;  her  arms,  bare  to  the  dimpled  elbow,  look- 
ed rounder  and  snowier  than  was  their  wont,  in  the 
broad  circlets  of  gold  which  bound  them.  Her  dress 


242  FRESH    LEAVES 

gave  a  pensive,  touching  air  to  her  brilliant  beauty; 
her  eyes  did  indeed  look  darker  and  deeper,  and  their 
curved  lashes  longer,  and  her  bright  lips  fresher  and 
dewier.  A  crimson  thread  would  almost  have  de- 
stroyed the  effect  of  this  simple  elegance.  She 
decided  that  her  dress,  at  least*  was  perfect 

Mrs.  Linn  was  in  her  boudoir,  but  no  Effie,  when 
Cleveland  entered.  The  two  sat  down  at  the  little  ta- 
ble which  had  been  brought  in  and  set  with  a  dainty 
repast  in  delicate  taste.  The  young  man  looked  anx- 
ious, till  his  hostess  informed  him  that  her  daughter 
was  still  indisposed,  and  could  not  appear.  He  then 
looked  both  anxious  and  disappointed. 

"  Is  she  seriousiy  ill  ?  "  lie  asked,  earnestly. 

"  Only  a  very  little  indisposed,  yet  she  thinks  she 
had  better  keep  her  room  to-day." 

"  She  must  be  really  unwell,  if  she  will  not  come 
down  to  see  me"  thought  her  lover,  and  the  expected 
pleasure  of  his  visit  vanished.  He  was  silent  and 
grave.  In  vain,  the  winning  woman  exercised  her 
powers  of  fascination ;  they  fell  unappreciated  upon 
him,  except  that  he  thought  that  the  sweet  lady  be- 
fore him  was  too  young  and  lovely  to  wear  the  title 
of  mother  to  a  man  of  his  age,  and  he  smiled  to  him- 
self at  the  fanciful  thought 

Thinking  this,  he  looked  at  her  more  earnestly,  and 
thought  her  more  beautiful  than  ever,  for  her  brilliant 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  243 

charms  were  softened  into  a  more  pensive  style ;  and 
the  wild,  impassioned  love  she  secretly  cherished,  lent 
a  melting,  glowing  sweetness  to  her  tones  and  actions. 
Her  eyes  were  almost  bewildering,  but  there  was 
something  about  them  that  did  not,  could  not  touch 
Lis  heart  like  the  clear,  pure,  innocent  ones  of  his 
soul's  sweet  choice. 

This  little  tea-party  was  a  failure.  Cleveland  con- 
tinued silent  and  sad,  and  rose  at  last  to  leave.  The 
widow  was  chagrined,  but  she  did  not  at  all  despair. 

As  Cleveland  returned  through  the  parlors  alone, 
having  begged  his  hostess  not  to  trouble  herself  to 
accompany  him,  he  saw  Effie  half  concealed  in  the 
embrasure  of  a  window  in  one  of  the  apartments. 
He  advanced  immediately  in  surprise,  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  And  you  are  well  enough  to  be  standing  here, 
and  would  not  even  come  a  moment  to  see  me  at 
tea,"  he  said,  reproachfully,  gazing  fondly  into  her 
lovely  face. 

The  poor  girl  could  not  speak  that  moment.  She 
had  not  known  he  was  there,  but  dared  not  say  so; 
and,  if  she  had  known  it,  what  would  it  avail  ?  She 
turned  very  pale. 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest,  you  do  indeed  look  faint  and 
ill,"  he  continued,  with  anxious  tenderness.  "  You  are 
not  going  to  be  really  so  sick  ?  oh,  I  hope  not !  " 


244  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  I  am  not  very  unwell,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a 
faint,  cold  tone,  withdrawing  from  the  arm  he  had  ex- 
tended when  she  turned  so  white.  "  I  have  a  slight 
headache." 

It  was  so  unlike  her  usual  confiding  sweetness,  that 
he  knew  that  she  was  ill  or  offended. 

"  Oh !  my  darling  Effie,  you  do  n't  know  how  I 
wanted  to  see'you  last  night;  and  to-night  I  was  so 
glad  —  I  thought  you  would  be  with  your  mother, 
and  we  would  have  such  a  happy  evening.  I  was 
so  anxious,  I  could  not  remain  —  I  fear  your  mother 
thought  I  was  hardly  polite.  Oh!  dearest,  I  wished 
to  steal  to  your  chamber  and  see  if  you  were  so  ill, 
and  kiss  your  poor  forehead,  if  it  ached,  before  I  came 
away ; "  and  he  would  have  pressed  his  truthful  lips 
upon  her  pure  brow,  but  again  she  shrunk  away. 

Her  heart  beat  almost  to  bursting — she  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  received  that  earnest  kiss.  She 
thought  of  her  mother,  and  her  promise. 

"  Mr.  Merefort!  "  she  said,  in  a  constrained  tone. 

"  Effie !  "  was  the  sad  and  grieved  reply.  "  Effie !  " 
he  continued,  "  have  I  offended  you  unconsciously  ? 
Believe  me,  I  do  not  know  in  what  manner.  Tell 
me,  that  I  may  atone.  You  are  very  much  altered 
to-night,  dearest" 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Merefort ;  pray,  do  not  think  I  am 
offended,"  she  replied  in  the  same  constrained  tone. 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         245 

She  did  not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes,  to  meet  his  look 
of  surprise. 

"  Good  evening,  Effie,"  he  said,  in  a  wounded  tone. 

"  Good  evening,"  was  the  chilling  reply. 

The  next  moment  he  was  gone,  and  the  unhappy 
girl  sank  down  upon  the  floor  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Her  heart  was  almost  broken! 

And  she  must  still  play  this  terrible  part  — wound 
his  love,  estrange  his  affections,  when  her  own  heart 
was  yearning  wildly — and  she  must  see  him  give  that 
love  to  another — see  him  at  the  altar — it  was  a  mar- 
tyrdom to  her  heart  more  cruel  than  death.  But  she 
had  resolved,  and  promised  to  play  her  part — and  she 
would  not  fail — it  must  be  done. 
11 


246  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    III. 

WEEKS  and  weeks  had  passed  -away.  In  vain 
had  the  lover  striven  to  ascertain  the  cause  of 
the  change  in  Effie's  manner.  At  first,  he  pleaded  to 
know,  when  by  chance  he  met  her;  then  his  wounded 
pride  and  affection  kept  him  silent ;  and  at  length  he 
ceased  to  speak  to  her  except  in  the  most  formal  way. 
But  he  suffered  almost  as  much  as  she ;  he  endured 
the  agony  of  suspense,  and  the  torture  of  her  chilling 
demeanor.  She  saw  that  he  suffered;  and  the  noble, 
patient,  heart-weary  girl  would  have  revealed  all  to 
him  for  his  sake,  but  that  her  duty  to  her  mother 
seemed  sacred.  So  she  only  hoped  that  he  might 
forget  her  and  be  happy.  But  she  could  not  look 
upon  his  proud,  but  mournful  face  without  almost 
betraying  herself,  and  at  length  she  avoided  him 
altogether. 

Yet  he  still  visited  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Linn.     He 
was  irresistibly  attracted  by  the  siren.      At  first,  he 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  247 

imagined  that  the  mother  knew  of  his  attachment  to 
her  daughter,  and  sympathized  with  him  in  her  ne- 
glect; then  again  he  concluded  that  she  knew  noth- 
ing of  it,  but  that  he  was  a  favorite  of  hers;  perhaps 
that  she  loved  him!  No,  no,  he  could  not  think  that; 
but  there  was  something  about  her  that  attracted  him 
to  her  side,  and  made  him  wish  for  her  sympathy 
and  gentleness.  Not  that  he  was  not  yet  true  to 
his  Effie  —  he  was  —  he  was!  He  loved  her  with 
the  intense  fervor  that  a  reserved,  proud,  intellectual 
man  of  thirty  will  love  for  the  first  time  a  sweet, 
pure,  gifted  girl.  But  this  very  love  made  him  seek 
the  mother;  he  had  a  faint  hope  that  through  her  he 
might  at  least  discover  the  cause  of  this  strange  fals- 
ity on  the  part  of  his  affianced.  She  was  so  soothing, 
so  gentle,  so  beautiful,  so  eloquent,  that,  unconsciously, 
he  was  deeply  interested  in  her,  and  could  not  pass  a 
day  out  of  her  society;  it  was  a  balm  to  his  suffering 
heart. 

She  saw  all  this,  and  acted  accordingly.  She  saw 
just  how  far  he  was  in  her  power,  and  she  had  a 
hope.  It  was  a  longer  struggle  to  gain  him  from  his 
disappointment  than  she  had  anticipated,  but  she  did 
not  despair.  To  her,  it  was  happiness  to  have  him 
come  and  sit  by  her,  if  he  only  listened  to  her  words — 
for  Effie  was  out  of  the  way,  and  he  was  hers  alone — 
if  his  mournful  thoughts  did  still  wander  away  aftei 


248  FRESH    LEAVES 

the  beloved  false  one.  She  stifled  all  pangs  of  re- 
morse —  she  lived  but  for  one  thing:  to  gain  the  love 
of  Mr.  Merefort 

One  morning,  Isabel  Linn  sat  in  a  beautiful  apart- 
ment, opening  into  the  conservatory.  The  room  was 
dim,  and  fresh,  and  pleasant  She  was  attired  with 
studied  carelessness,  and  looked  very  lovely.  A  book 
was  in  her  hand,  which  she  laid  uside  with  a  flush 
of  joy,  as  Cleveland  entered;  he  came  across  the  rich 
carpet^  and  sat  down  upon  a  low  seat  beside  her  lux- 
urious arm-chair.  He  was  more  than  usually  sad  — 
he  sat  for  some  time  without  speaking,  while  Isabel 
looked  upon  him  with  tender  eyes. 

"  Do  you  believe  there  is  such  a  thing  as  true  and 
constant  love  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly,  raising  his  dark 
eyes  intently  to  her  face. 

Those  beautiful  orbs  of  hers  seemed  to  melt  away 
in  tenderness,  as  she  looked  into  his,  without  answer- 
ing in  words. 

"  You  are  sad  this  morning,"  she  said  softly.  "  I 
would  that  I  could  banish  that  mournfulness  from 
your  face  for  ever." 

"  Yon  may,  perhaps,  alleviate  it,"  he  replied,  slowly. 

"  Then  tell  me,"  she  said,  with^a  sweet  smile,  bend- 
ing toward  him. 

"  Let  me  confide  to  you  the  secret  of  this  sadness," 
he  said. 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  '.     9 

She  held  out  her  delicate,  fair  hand,  and  he  prei  ted 
it  in  both  his,  as  he  said  rapidly — 

"  I  loved  your  daughter,  Mrs.  Linn  —  I  wai  be- 
trothed to  her;  I  loved  intensely  and  purely  and 
thought  she  returned  it.  I  believed  the  gentle  ords 
that  trembled  on  her  lips  and  the  blush  on  her  jheek, 
when  she  told  me  that  her  love  was  like  to  mine.  But 
for  many  weeks  she  has  slighted  me:  I  have  not  even 
seen  her  recently.  The  change  was  so  sudden,  so  en- 
tire, I  could  not  but  believe  that  she  loved  me  still 
as  ever,  but  that  some  fatal  misunderstanding  existed. 
Tell  me,  do  you  know  aught  of  this  ?  and,  if  you  do 
not,  will  you  be  so  very,  very  kind,  as  to  learn  for  me 
the  reasons  of  this  change  ?  " 

Mrs.  Linn  listened  with  a  soft  smile,  and,  when  he 
raised  his  eyes  earnestly  to  hear  the  answer  to  his  ques- 
tions, she  smiled  still  more,  yet  kindly,  gently,  pityingly. 

"Can  it  be  that  a  man  of  your  experience  and 
knowledge  of  life  would  trust  his  happiness  to  a  mere 
child  ? "  she  said,  with  a  burst  of  gentle  surprise. 
"  Effie  has  but  just  left  her  studies,  Mr.  Merefort; 
and,  of  course,  the  offer  of  love  you  made  was  ac- 
cepted ;  young  girls  can  not  know  themselves,  and  are 
invariably  flattered  by  the  first  attentions  they  re- 
ceive. Doubtless  her  conduct  now  is  but  a  foolish 
caprice  —  some  other  admirer  has  appeared,  and  you 
are  fergotten.  I  only  regret  that  your  noble  and  true 


250  FRESH    LEAVES 

love  was  given  so  carelessly,  to  such  a  child.  But  it 
would  not  be  manly  to  let  a  school-girl  make  you 
unhappy." 

Cleveland  bit  his  lips  with  mortification  and  agony. 
Could  it  be  possible  he  had  been  such  a  very  sim- 
pleton ? 

"  But  I  would  not  have  a  worn-out,  second  love. 
So  you  think  there  is  no  such  thing  in  life  as  earnest, 
true,  unchanging  love?"  he  asked,  bitterly. 

"  How  could  I  think  so  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low,  sweet 
tone,  and,  turning  those -large,  dark,  passionate  eyes 
slowly  to  his,  she  bent  forward  still  farther,  and  made 
no  other  reply. 

Her  companion  knew  not  what  to  say.  He  was 
fascinated  by  that  eloquent  face,  yet  his  heart  was 
still  true  to  another. 

"  Yes ! "  she  said,  earnestly,  after  a  while ;  "  I  know 
that  there  is  a  love,  which  is  hardly  a  love,  it  is  so 
much  of  worship,  thought,  life  —  but  it  is  not  the 
shrinking  love  of  a  trifling,  timid  child.  It  is  the 
passionate  devotion,  the  wild  idolatry,  the  burning 
affection  of  older,  stronger,  more  fully-developed  na- 
tures. It  is  the  love  that  comes  at  the  time  when 
the  heart  knows  itself  and  others;  when  its  thoughts 
are  matured,  its  impulses  strengthened,  its  gifts  cul- 
tivated, its  affections  deepened  into  steady,  fervent, 
intense  power;  when  the  spirit,  and  the  beauty  and 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  251 

the  genius  of  life  are  at  the  zenith  of  their  glory. 
It  is  passion  —  it  is  hope  —  it  is  life  —  it  is  all !  it  is 
fearfully,  madly  deep  and  strong !  it  does  all,  dares  all, 
sacrifices  all  to  its  own  intensity!  It  fears  not!  it 
shrinks  not !  it  gives  all  or  none !  " 

She  bent  further  forward,  as  she  paused,  and  laid 
her  soft  hands  on  the  dark  curls  of  the  man  before 
her,  and  pressed  a  quick,  warm  kiss  upon  his  fore- 
head. Then,  folding  those  hands  mutely  over  her 
bosom,  she  drooped  her  head,  while  a  crimson  blush 
burned  on  her  cheek,  where  the  long  lashes  trembled 
in  drooping  confusion. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  while  Cleveland 
gazed  upon  the  blushing,  beautiful,  impassioned  crea- 
ture who  had  thus  revealed  her  love  to  him.  Had 
he  indeed  been  mistaken  in  looking  for  unselfish  love 
from  a  very  young  girl  ?  did  this  splendid  woman  love 
the  most  devotedly  ?  It  would  seem  so  —  for,  while 
one  would  not  make  a  sacrifice  of  pride  to  explain  the 
cause  of  her  estrangement,  or  perhaps  had  even  no 
pride  and  no  cause,  the  other  had  sacrificed  pride  and 
more,  and  now  sat  trembling  and  subdued  before  him. 
While  he  still  thought,  a  tear  dropped  down  from 
those  long,  jetty,  lashes,  and  fell  on  his  hand.  The 
spell  was  completed.  He  sank  upon  his  knees,  and 
took  the  small  hands  from  her  bosom,  and  pressed 
tLem  to  his  own. 


252  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  May  I  look  for  that  love  and  devotion  from  iny 
beautiful  Isabel  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  superb  head  was  on  his  shoulder  —  broken, 
murmuring  words  of  tenderness  fell  from  her  lips  — 
and  then,  blushing,  radiant,  smiling,  confused,  bewil- 
dered, she  glided  from  the  room,  and  left  him  kneel 
ing,  entranced,  and  dreaming  by  her  chair. 

"  Come  to-night,"  she  said,  as  she  left  him. 

For  a  long  while,  Cleveland  knelt  there,  with  his 
head  drooped  upon  his  hand.  His  heart  beat  so  vio- 
lently, that  he  could  not  think  calmly.  When  his 
pulses  grew  more  subdued,  he  realized  that  he  did 
not  yet  love  the  beautiful  creature  who  had  just  left 
him  —  but  he  thought  he  might  do  so —  and,  for  her 
sake  he  would  try.  Of  Erne  he  thought  with  a  curl- 
ing lip — she  was  unworthy;  yet  there  was  still  a  des- 
olation and  gloom  in  his  heart  It  would  yet  take  all 
the  beauty  and  the  skill  of  Isabel  Linn  to  complete 
the  triumph  which  had  sent  her,  quivering,  joyous, 
blushing,  happy,  to  her  chamber,  to  lu'de  her  tumult- 
uous bliss  in  solitude. 

By-and-by,  the  young  man  arose  and  stepped  out 
into  the  conservatory,  to  soothe  his  mingled  feelings 
among  the  flowers.  There,  close  by  the  door,  lying 
among  the  bright  blossoms,  pale  arid  still,  was  the 
broken-hearted  and  devoted  Effie.  She  had  seen  all 
that  had  passed  within;  and,  when  she  heard  that 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  253 

last,  low,  earnest  question  of  Cleveland's,  and  saw 
him  sink  upon  the  floor  and  clasp  her  mother's  hand, 
the  strong  purpose  which  had  upheld  her  gave  way, 
and  she  fell,  insensible,  among  the  fair  flowers  —  none 
of  them  so  lovely  yet  so  blighted  as  herself. 

Her  lover  looked  upon  her,  for  a  moment,  motion- 
less. She  had  grown  very  thin  since  he  saw  her  last; 
traces  of  heart-suffering  were  on  her  transparent  fore- 
head, and  pale  lips,  and  wasted  form.  In  a  moment, 
he  felt  that  he  had  wronged  her — that  she  was  and 
had  been  very  unhappy  —  and  for  what  cause  ?  He 
resolved  now  to  know,  if  it  was  not  too  late.  He  took 
her  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her  into  the  drawing-room — 
took  a  chased -gold  bottle  of  salts  from  the  table,  and 
sat  down  on  the  sofa,  supporting  her  head  on  his 
breast,  and  chafing  her  hands,  and  applying  the  salts 
to  her  nostrils.  Still  she  did  not  stir,  though  her 
pulse  beat  faintly  in  her  delicate  wrist.  A  glass  of 
wine  stood  on  a  small  stand,  near  by  —  some  of  this 
he  poured  between  her  lips — and,  after  a  few  anxious 
moments,  she  gave  a  faint  sigh,  then  breathed  gently, 
and  unclosed  her  eyes. 

The  face  of  her  lover  bent  above  her  —  his  deep 
eyes  were  looking  with  unutterable  tenderness  upon 
her. 

"  Cleveland,  is  it  you?  do  I  rest  here?"  she  uttered 
faintly,  and,  with  a  blissful  smile,  she  pressed  her  head 
11* 


254  FRESH     LEAVES 

closer  on  his  bosom,  half  clasped  him  with  her  arms, 
and  closed  her  eyes  again. 

"  1  did  not  think  I  should  ever  nestle  here  again  — 
yet  you  love  me  still!  you  have  come  to  me  to  tell 
me  how  entirely  I  am  yours ! " 

The  young  man  replied  to  her  low  murmur,  with 
fervent  kisses  on  the  sweet  brow  that  had  grown  so 
pale  and  spiritual.  She  loved  him  yet  —  he  knew 
it,  now — yet,  like  a  sharp  dagger,  came  the  remem- 
brance of  the  past  scene  !  it  was  that  which  had 
taken  the  breath  from  the  young  lips  of  Effie.  What 
should  he  do  ?  He  was  false  to  her,  if  it  was  but  for 
a  moment,  and  she  knew  it  —  aye,  and  another  knew 
it,  and  rejoiced  in  it  His  brow  contracted  with  pain. 
Oh,  how  he  longed  to  have  this  mystery  cleared 
away,  for  he  felt  there  was  a  mystery !  He  waited 
anxiously  for  the  fair  creature,  he  sustained,  to  gain 
strength  to  tell  him  all. 

Suddenly  the  young  girl  pressed  her  hands  upon 
her  temples! 

"  I  feel  such  agony  here !  "  she  exclaimed  —  and, 
before  her  supporter  could  prevent  her,  she  sprang 
from  him  and  stood  in  the  center  of  the  apartment. 

Her  eyes  were  now  wide  open  and  brilliant,  and 
her  cheeks  were  red,  and  clear,  and  hot,  and  her  fore- 
head pale. 

"Mother!  mother!  mother!  "she  moaned,  clasping 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS.  255 

her  hands  piteously,  "do  not  be  so  cruel!  See!  how 
you  lure  him  away  from  me  !  Ah,  mother!  you 
look  like  a  beautiful  serpent  enchanting  him !  I  see 
your  great  eyes  burning  down  into  his!  I  told  you 
I  would  die,  mother,  if  you  took  him  from  me!  and 
look!"  pressing  her  hands  on  her  heart — "there  is 
such  a  pain  here,  that  I  know  I  am  dying!  Dying — 
dying,  mother !  and  you  killed  me !  " 

Cleveland  shuddered  at  the  unnaturally  brilliant 
eyes  that  were  fixed  upon  him  with  a  gaze  of  re- 
proach and  feverish  agony  —  he  shuddered  at  that 
wild  look  and  burning  form — his  Erne  was  delirious! 
But  he  would  not  summon  help  yet  —  he  wished  to 
hear  from  her  raving  lips  the  whole  of  this  mystery. 
The  young  girl  now  came  a  step  toward  him,  and  the 
expression  of  her  face  changed  —  her  large  eyes  were 
troubled,  and  tender,  and  pleading! 

"  My  own  Cleveland !  do  not  look  so  coldly  upon 
me!  for  sweet  mercy's  sake!  turn  away  that  bitter 
look !  I  did  not  mean  to  be  cold  to  you  —  believe 
me,  I  did  not;  and,  when  I  saw  you  look  so  despair- 
ing, oh!  Cleveland,  my  heart  was  breaking!  slowly, 
slowly  breaking!  But  she  bade  me  do  so,  dearest  — 
she  compelled  me !  I  plead  to  the  stars,  and  they  did 
not  listen !  I  prayed  to  the  angels,  and  they  heard  me 
not  —  cruel!  cruel!  cruel!  It  is  terrible,  to  see  you 
look  so — do  I  not  shrink  and  quiver  before  your  gaze  ? 


256  FRESH     LEAVES 

Oh,  Cleveland,  I  shall  shriek  out,  if  you  do  not  pity 
me  and  forgive !  See,  I  am  at  your  feet  —  at  your 
feet,  Cleveland!" 

The  young  girl  was  kneeling  at  his  feet,  with  her 
pale,  thin  hands  outstretched  to  him  —  her  whole  face 
was  brilliant  with  fever,  and  softened  by  its  pleading 
expression.  It  would  have  touched  a  heart  of  stone 
to  have  seen  that  burning,  beautiful,  mournful  face! 
If  the  mother  had  witnessed  it,  it  might  have  smote 
her  heart!  The  lover's  breast  hardly  held  its  burst- 
ing emotions.  "  Oh,  curses  on  that  beautiful  de- 
ceiver !  curses  on  my  silly  self  ! "  he  exclaimed,  iu  the 
bitterness  of  anger  and  remorse. 

"  You  curse  me,  Cleveland  ?  "  said  the  poor  girl,  in 
a  reproachful,  voice,  clasping  his  knees,  and  hiding  her 
wild,  sad  face. 

"  Curse  you  for  my  own  mad  folly?  Dearest,  look 
upon  me !  see !  I  am  beseeching  you  to  listen  to  me ! 
I  love  you  so  tenderly  —  so  dearly !  " 

He  took  her  up  from  the  floor,  and  supported  her 
in  his  arms,  trying  to  soothe  her  and  make  her  com- 
prehend him. 

"  Is  it  indeed  you,  Cleveland  ?  have  you  come  to 
take  me  from  my  dreadful  mother?  Ah!  she  de- 
ceived' you  so  terribly  that  it  broke  my  heart!  Let 
us  sit  down  and  talk  about  it." 

They  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  he  held  her. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  257 

"  Hark  !  I  hear  the  flowers  in  the  conservatory 
laughing  and  singing,  because  you  love  me  yet,  and 
will  take  me  away !  I  am  so  happy —  my  heart  is  all 
in  a  flutter —  my  brain  is  burning —  do  you  hear  them 
laugh  ?  Ah !  they  are  moaning — it  is  not  you — you 
must  be  my  poor  mother.  Yes,  it  is  you,  Cleveland ! 
I  hear  your  deep  voice — my  mother's  voice  is  sweeter, 
but  it  is  deceitful.  I  do  not  love  her;  do  you,  dear- 
est ?  Now  I  remember,  you  told  her  you  would  love 
her,  and  it  made  my  heart  ache ;  but  we  will  love  her 
together,  and  —  are  you  here,  dear  ?  it  is  so  dark,  I 
can  not  see  you !  " 

Here  she  sank  against  him  more  heavily,  and  mur- 
mured inarticulately.  He  had  heard  enough  to  set 
his  soul  on  fire ;  and,  very  much  alarmed  at  the  illness 
of  his  Eflie,  he  laid  her  carefully  on  the  sofa,  felt  her 
throbbing  temples,  and  hurriedly  rang  the  belL 

"  Call  Mrs.  Linn,"  he  said  to  the  servant. 

In  a  short  time,  Isabel  came  back  into  the  apart- 
ment, with  a  soft  blush  and  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Your  daughter  is  ill,"  he  said,  almost  sternly. 

The  haughty  woman  turned  pale,  and  would  have 
stammered  out  a  question,  but,  passing  her  with  a 
cold  bow,  Cleveland  Merefort  hurried  into  the  streets, 
and  paced  them  with  restless  steps. 

Efiie  loved  him  yet — oh,  joy !  but  Effie  was  very  ill, 
and  would  not  probably  live  —  oh,  unutterable  agony! 


258  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IT  was  the  crisis  of  the  fever ! 
Profound  silence  was  in  the  marble  mansion  of 
Mrs.  Linn.  In  one  of  the  lower  apartments,  with  his 
face  buried  in  the  arms  which  were  folded  over  a 
chair,  knelt  Cleveland  Merefort  —  waiting  in  intense 
anxiety  for  the  messenger  who  should  bear  the  fatal 
or  joyful  tidings  —  moving  not,  scarcely  breathing  in 
his  suspense. 

In  the  chamber  above,  the  sick  girl  lay  sleeping. 
The  nurse,  physician,  and  mother  were  gathered 
around  her  bed.  Wasted,  and  pale,  and  still,  she 
lay  on  the  white  pillows;  the  breath  just  trembled 
on  her  pallid  lips. 

The  mother  sat  with  her  head  drooped  on  her 
hands,  watching  the  face  of  her  child.  God  forgive 
her!  but,  as  she  looked  upon  that  sweet  but  deathly 
face,  there  was  a  hope  in  her  heart,  which  she  dared 
not  acknowledge  to  herself,  that  the  crisis  might  not 
be  favorable!  deeper  emotions  than  those  called  up 


^  FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  259 

by  the  situation  of  her  child  agitated  her,  though  her 
face  was  pale  and  calm.  She  feared  —  indeed,  she 
knew  —  that  the  man  she  loved  must  know  all,  for  his 
stern  look,  and  the  incoherent  ravings  of  Effie,  con- 
vinced her  of  this. 

Very,  very  fallible  and  slender,  therefore,  were  the 
hopes  she  entertained  of  now  succeeding.  A  tem- 
pest of  varying  passions  —  love,  anger,  sorrow,  mor- 
tification, revenge  —  every  feeling  by  turns  burned  in 
her  bosom. 

After  a  long,  weary  watch,  the  sleep  of  the  invalid 
was  broken.  She  unclosed  her  eyes ;  in  an  instant, 
the  doctor  was  bending  over  her. 

"  She  will  live,  madam,"  he  said,  after  a  moment 
of  suspense. 

"  Ah,  heaven  be  praised !  "  said  the  nurse ;  and, 
approaching  Mrs.  Linn,  she  whispered,  "  There  is  a 
young  gentleman  down  stairs,  in  a  dreadful  fret  to 
hear  from  our  dear  young  lady  —  shall  I  send  word, 
that  she  is  better,  and  will  get  well  ?  " 

The  mother  started  and  changed  countenance. 

"  I  will  go  myself,  and  tell  him  this  happy  news," 
she  said;  and,  kissing  her  daughter's  forehead,  she 
hurried  from  the  room. 

It  was  a  grent  effort  for  her  to  appear  calm,  as  she 
entered  the  room  where  Cluvel  ;nd  was  yet  kneeling. 
But  she  need  not  have  striven  so  hard,  for  he  had 


260  FRESH    LEAVES  _ 

that  moment  forgotten  his  position  toward  her.  When 
she  entered,  he  sprang  up. 

"  Tell  me  instantly,  Mrs.  Linn  —  oh,  speak !  is  she 
dying?" 

"  The  crisis  is  past  —  the  physician  pronounces  her 
out  of  danger !  " 

The  lover  clasped  his  hands  fervently. 

"  And  now,  dear  one,"  said  the  lady,  with  the  smile 
of  an  angel,  "  now,  that  this  anxiety  is  over,  we  can 
again  spend  a  charming  hour  together.  Sit  here  — I 
want  to  talk  of  all  that  has  happened  since  we  were 
separated  by  this  unfortunate  illness." 

Mr.  Merefort  declined  the  seat  she  proffered,  witk 
a  cold,  impatient  air. 

"  Can  I  nol  be  permitted  to  look  upon  the  poor 
sufferer  —  my  Effie?"  he  asked. 

Isabel  did  not  blush,  nor  frown,  but  replied,  with 
her  everlasting,  beautiful  smile, 

"  Ah,  I  scarcely  know!  any  excitement  might — " 

"  But  she  shall  not  see  me  —  I  will  not  speak,"  in- 
terrupted the  lover  eagerly.  "  Believe  me,  I  will  be 
discreet" 

The  lady  ground  her  teeth  secretly,  but  smiled 
again. 

"  Come,  then ;  but  I  will  not  answer  for  you  to  the 
doctor,"  she  said. 

He  followed  her  with  a  beating  heart;  and,  silently 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  261 

entering  the  sick  room,  stood  by  the  bedside,  concealed 
by  the  curtain. 

Oh,  his  darling,  beautiful,  suffering  Effie !  He  would 
have  given  a  fortune,  had  he  possessed  it,  to  press 
that  wasted  form  to  his  breast,  and  see  a  smile  on  that 
pale,  pure  cheek.  Still,  and  colorless,  and  exquisitely 
lovely  she  lay  —  so  motionless  and  pure,  like  a  rare 
statue,  only  more  spiritual,  more  transparent. 

"  Doctor,"  she  said,  faintly,  as  they  all  gazed  on 
her,  "  have  I  been  very  ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  lady  ;  but  you  must  not  speak 
now." 

She  moved  her  eyes  slowly,  till  they  fell  on  her 
mother's  face. 

"  You  here,  my  dear  mother  ?  "  and,  as  her  eyes 
still  wandered,  they  rested  on  the  countenance  of  her 
lover,  who,  in  his  agitation,  had  advanced  within  sight; 
a  faint,  sweet  smile  shone  then  from  those  large  eyes — 
"  and  you,  too,  Cleveland  ?  then  mother  has  repented. 
You  are  mine!  bless  you,  bless  you,  mother!  "she 
almost  whispered,  she  was  so  weak. 

No  one  heard  her,  but  the  two  interested.  Mrs. 
Linn  turned  white. 

"  The  young  lady  must  cease  talking,"  here  inter- 
rupted the  doctor. 

Effie  made  an  effort  to  extend  her  hand  to  her 
betrothed,  as  he  was  turning  away ;  he  took  it,  held 


262  FRESH     LEAVES 

it  a  moment  tenderly,  looking  down  into  those  loving, 
languid  eyes,  with  mournful  interest  ;  then  turned 
away,  and  left  the  house,  despite  the  still  placid  in- 
vitation of  the  l;idy  to  remain. 

After  he  departed,  Mrs.  Linn's  tender  smile  van- 
ished. She  went  to  her  room,  closed  the  door,  and 
paced  hurriedly  to  and  fro.  The  mask  of  sweetness 
was  thrown  aside,  and  it  was  frightful  to  see  her  in 
the  paroxysms  of  mortification  and  disappointment. 
She  tore  her  magnificent  hair,  till  it  hung  in  dishev- 
eled masses  around  her  haughty  form;  she  bit  her 
convulsed  lips  till  they  were  stained  with  blood;  she 
snatched  off  her  jewels  and  flung  them  away;  she 
stamped  her  delicate  feet  till  they  were  blistered ;  she 
tore  the  muslin  drapery  from  her  beautiful  arms,  and 
the  folds  of  silk  and  linen  from  her  swelling,  passion- 
ate, wild,  mad  heart!  She  threw  herself  prostrate  on 
the  floor,  with  her  black  locks  and  torn  garments 
streaming  around  her.  Then  she  arose,  and  lifted  up, 
in  threatening  grandeur,  her  clenched  hand.  Splendid, 
yet,  degrading  sight!  passions  that,  cultivated  and  re- 
strained, would  have  made  her  sublime  in  womanly 
power,  now  raging  uncontrolled — wrecking  and  con- 
vulsing their  fair  tenement!  One  moment  she  was  a 
hateful  fury,  debased  by  anger  and  malice,  grinding 
her  teeth  and  tearing  herself;  the  next,  she  was  terri- 
bly, touchingly  beautiful — as  anguish,  and  sorrow,  and 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         263 

regret,  at  this  blighting  of  her  first,  strong  love,  agi- 
tated her.  Then  the  dark  eyes  were  thrown  upward, 
in  an  intensity  of  agony,  their  long  lashes  trembling 
on  the  contracted  brows ;  then  her  burning  lips  quiv- 
ered, and  her  small  hands  pressed  her  throbbing 
bosom;  then  the  attitude  of  that  superb  form  was 
eloquent  of  despair. 

Half  the  night  the  excited  woman  gave  herself  up 
to  this  uncontrolled  outbreak  of  her  emotions.  What 
dreadful  thoughts  suggested  themselves  during  th:it 
time,  who  shall  say  ?  That  she  did  curse  her  daugh- 
ter for  falling  ill,  for  getting  well,  is  true — but  whether 
darker  thoughts  of  yet  making  that  recovery  impossi- 
ble, brooded  in  her  blackened  soul,  the  events  that 
followed  only  witnessed  to.  We  know  that  such 
things  have  transpired,  and  Isabel  Linn  was  willful, 
passionate,  unprincipled,  uncontrolled  —  she  loved  her 
daughter's  affianced,  and  hated  that  daughter. 

Completely  exhausted,  Isabel  at  length  threw  her- 
self on  the  bed,  and  fell  into  a  muttering  slumber.  It 
was  late  the  next  day  when  she  awoke.  She  sprung 
from  her  couch,  and  hastened  to  the  mirror.  It  gave 
back  her  features  pale  and  haggard;  her  lips  were 
blood-stained,  her  eyes  heavy  —  there  were  actually 
two  or  three  wrinkles  on  that  beautiful  face ! 

"  It  will  never  do  to  indulge  in  this,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  look  ten  years  older  than  I  did  yesterday." 


264  FRESH    LEAVES 

So  she  washed  her  complexion  in  as  many  soothing 
creams  as  Henry  the  Third  was  once  in  the  habit  of 
doing,  and  applied  rose-balm  to  her  wounded  lips,  and 
gathered  up  her  disheveled  hair  in  a  French  twist ; 
then  throwing  herself  again  on  the  bed,  brooded  an 
hour  over  her  dark  thoughts,  before  she  rang  for  her 
breakfast  and  her  dressing-maid. 

From  that  time  forward,  for  several  days,  the 
haughty,  cold,  and  indifferent  manner  of  Isabel  was 
changed  for  one  of  gentleness  and  suavity,  at  least, 
before  Cleveland,  who  came  every'day,  as  Effie  grew 
stronger,  to  sit  beside  her  couch,  sometimes  silently 
holding  her  hand,  sometimes  reading  to  her,  and  some- 
times wlu'spering  dear  words  which  brought  a  faint 
hue  of  happiness  to  the  cheek  of  the  invalid.  Isabel 
even  took  the  lover  to  her  boudoir  one  day,  and  hum- 
bled herself  before  him,  confessing,  with  penitential 
sorrow,  that  she  had  been  the  cause  of  Effie's  illness, 
but  that  she  had  no  idea  that  so  more  a  child  was 
really  so  interested  —  that  her  own  wild  love  blinded 
her,  but  that  now  she  saw  the  wrong,  and  had  made 
a  great  effort,  for  her  child's  sake,  to  smother  her  own 
feelings,  and  she  thought  she  had  conquered  them  — 
when  Effie  was  well  enough,  they  would  have  a  wed- 
ding—  she  could  smile  now,  to  see  her  two  children 
wed  one  another. 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS. 


265 


Cleveland  pitied  and  forgave  her,  and  went  away 
with  a  heart  full  of  joy,  to  talk  to  his  bethrothed 
about  it;  and  the  invalid,  too,  smiled  and  blushed, 
and  seemed  a  great  deal  better. 


266  FRESH     LEAVES 


CHAPTER    V. 

/CLEVELAND  MEREFORT  was  threading  his  way 
\J  through  one  of  the  miserable  by-streets  of  his 
native  city.  Though  he  was  not  a  rich  man,  he  had 
a  heart  and  a  purse  for  the  suffering;  and  now,  with 
his  fine,  intellectual  face  beaming  with  kindness,  he 
was  on  a  visit  to  one  of  the  poor  men  he  had  at  some 
time  employed,  who  was  now  sick.  As  he  turned  a 
corner  in  the  dirty  street,  a  lady,  in  a  plain,  dark  dress 
and  thick  vail,  glided  before  him,  without  perceiving 
him.  He  watched  her  with  interest,  wondering  if 
she,  too,  was  bent  on  a  charitable  errand — for  that  she 
was  elegant  and  fastidious  he  saw,  though  she  was  in 
this  low  part  of  the  city.  Her  whole  demeanor,  de- 
spite the  plain  dress,  was  so  haughty  and  graceful, 
that  he  at  once  was  almost  sure  that  the  lady  was 
Mrs.  Linn. 

After  preceding  him  for  a  short  distance,  she  paused 
a  moment,  and  then  entered,  with  a  hesitating  step,  a 
dingy  house,  which,  the  young  man  at  once  recollected, 
was  the  abode  of  a  necromancer,  and  dealer  in  lov« 


FROM    "WESTERN     WOODS.  267 

and  hate  philters.  Convinced  that  it  was  Mrs.  Linn, 
he  strove  to  conjecture  her  errand,  but  was  at  a  loss. 
He  proceeded  on  his  mission  of  mercy,  and  then 
wended  his  way  to  the  residence  of  his  dear  invalid. 

Effie  was  now  so  strong  that  she  came  down  every 
day  and  sat  in  the  easy  chair,  in  the  back  drawing- 
room  —  the  pleasant  room  that  opened  into  the  con- 
servatory. 

As  he  was  now  in  the  habit  of  doing,  Cleveland 
entered  the  hall  without  ringing  the  bell,  and  going 
first  into  the  front  drawing-room,  he  paused  a  moment, 
when  he  saw  that  the  inner  door  was  half  open,  to 
look,  unperceived,  upon  the  fair  sufferer. 

She  sat  by  the  open  window,  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  pale  hand.  She  wore  a  pale  blue  morning- 
dress  —  her  hair  was  pushed  back  wearily  from  her 
forehead,  and  a  slight  flush  of  anticipated  pleasure, 
probably,  was  on  her  clear,  soft  cheek.  As  we  said 
before,  her  face  was  the  purest  thing  out  of  heaven ! — 
and  now,  spiritualized  yet  more  by  suffering,  it  was 
unearthly  in  its  loveliness. 

While  the  lover,  with  suspended  breath,  was  feed- 
ing his  soul  on  this  rare  beauty,  he  saw,  through  the 
partially-closed  door,  Mrs.  Linn  enter  behind  Effie, 
holding  something,  wrapped  in  paper,  in  her  hand. 
Her  bonnet  and  vail  were  cast  aside,  but  it  v>ns  the 
same  dark  breath.  She  paused  at  a  stand  where 


268  FRESH    LEAVES 

stood  some  cooling  drink  for  the  invalid,  and  pouring 
some  of  this  from  the  cut-glass  pitcher  into  a  silver 
cup,  she  dropped  the  contents  of  the  paper  into  the 
goblet.  Had  it  not  been  that  her  hand  trembled  so 
violently,  and  that  she  grew  so  deathly  pallid,  he 
would  have  supposed,  of  course,  that  it  was  some  pow- 
dfr  prescribed.  But  her  face  wore  such  a-  strange 
expression,  and  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart,  as 
if  to  strengthen  some  purpose,  that  immediately  the 
thought  of  the  visit  to  the  necromancer  flashed  over 
him.  He  grew  quite  faint  at  the  thought,  and  leaned 
against  the  wall,  still  watching  the  inner  room.  When 
the  mother  grew  more  calm,  she  went  to  her  daughter 
and  kissed  her  cheek. 

"You  are  a  little  feverish  this  morning,  I  fear," 
she  said  kindly. 

"No,  Mother,  I  feel  better  —  almost  well,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  I  will  roll  the  stand  here,  where  you  can  drink 
when  you  are  thirsty,"  continued  the  lady,  and,  doing 
as  she  said,  she  left  the  room,  remarking — "  Cleveland 
will  be  here  soon,  I  suppose." 

The  sweet  girl  blushed,  and,  as  the  door  closed  after 
her  parent,  ere  the  blush  faded,  Cleveland  entered 
and  called  it  back  again. 

He  sat  a  moment  or  two,  conversing  pleasantly. 

"So  you  are  almost  well,  are  you,  dearest?    I 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  269 

heard  your  mother  say  you  must  drink  this  beverage ; 
so,  as  you  are  well  enough  to  tease  now,  I  shall  give 
it  all  to  the  canaries  and  lap-dog,"  and  the  lover  arose 
and  took  the  silver  cup  in  his  hand.  He  said  this 
playfully,  and  the  invalid  smiled  brightly. 

"Very  well,  Sir  Torment,"  she  responded,  "you 
will  fail  to  tease  me  there  —  I  am  happy  to  be  rid 
it.     Doubtless  there  is  some  bitter  potion  in  it,  left  b 
our  JEsculapius." 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  feed  it  to  your  pets,"  he  said, 
"if  only  to  try  the  effect  of  the  good  doctor's  drugs 
on  them." 

And  laughing,  he  emptied  the  contents  of  the  cup 
into  the  china  dishes  on  each  side  the  gilded  cage  of 
the  golden  warblers,  and  the  rest  into  the  porcelain 
plate  of  little  Fidele.  Then  he  filled  it  again  from  the 
pitcher,  and  watered  a  portion  of  the  plants  in  the 

conservatory,  and  set  the  goblet  back  with  a  gay  face. 
12 


J70  FRESH    LEAVES 


CHAPTER   VI. 

M  J1FFIE,  dear,  can  not  you  trust  me?  ?an  not 

Jjj  you  place  entire  confidence  in  whM  I  say? 
Believe  me,  it  is  only  necessity  that  urges  me  —a  press- 
ing necessity,  which  I  keep  from  you,  for  your  own 
happiness." 

"  I  do  trust  you,  Cleveland ;  but  it  is  s  >  strange, 
•when  we  were  to  have  been  married  in  a  f  w  weeks, 
to  propose  so  strange  a  step !  Tell  me  all,  Cleveland, 
or  I  can  not  decide. 

The  lovers  sat  in  a  little  sylvan  temple,  w  bich  the 
costly  taste  of  Mrs.  Linn  had  caused  to  be  ei  <icted  in 
the  center  of  the  grounds.  It  was  a  lovely  September 
afternoon.  They  supposed  they  were  entirely  alone — 
but,  Isabel,  coming  herself  to  summon  the  young 
couple  to  tea,  heard  the  eager  questions  of  the  gentle- 
man, and  paused  to  listen  outside  the  doorway,  which 
was  made  of  marble  in  the  shape  of  two  sweet  statues, 
with  their  hands  linked  together  overhead. 

"Oh,  Effie,  Effie!  I  can  not  tell  you  anything, 
except  that  the  reason  is  good.  Do  not  hesitate, 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  271 

then  —  be  mine  to-night  —  and  to-morrow  we  will  be 
far  away  on  our  journey  to  a  southern  home.  When 
I  tell  you,  Effie,  that  it  is  for  your  own  safety  and 
welfare,  you  will  not  refuse  me." 

"  Leave  my  home,  my  mother,  for  ever — be  mar- 
ried secretly  —  go  to  the  south  —  conceal  from  my 
mother  where  I  am  ?  Oh !  Cleveland,  it  is  not  possi- 
ble !  it  can  not  be  — " 

"  Speak,  dearest !  what  do  you  suspect  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  by  accident  committed  —  you  have 
not  —  tell  me,  have  you  committed  some  terrible 
crime  ?  " 

"Oh!  Effie,  then  you  do  not  confide  in  me,  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  have  done  nothing  wrong.  You  will 
not  place  yourself  in  my  keeping  now,  under  circum- 
stances a  little  darkened ;  yet,  in  a  few  weeks,  you  will 
trust  your  happiness  to  me.  If  you  can  not  consent 
now  to  give  all  to  me,  I  can  not  accept  the  gift  at  a 
more  fitting  time.  I  have  told  you  that  I  have  done 
all  this  for  you.  I  have  made  sacrifices  for  your 
happiness.  I  would  willingly  tell  you  all  now,  only 
that  I  assure  you  it  is  better  that  you  should  not 
know.  Effie,  do  you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  I  do,  I  do !  But  my  mother  —  my  lonely,  deso- 
late mother  —  my  home  —  to  leave  them  for  ever !  " 

"Do  you  love  them  better  than  him  you  have 
promised  to  wed  ?  " 


272  FRESH    LEAVES 

The  3Toung  girl  burst  into  tears. 

"  Dearest,  my  own  sweet  one,"  pleaded  the  lover, 
"  it  is  cruel,  I  know,  to  tear  you  away  from'  them. 
It  is  natural  that  you  should  hesitate.  I  hardly,  my- 
self, realized  this,  the  necessity  was  so  very  great  Yet 
you  must  go;  you  must  be  mine  to-night  And,  if 
you  will  not  feel  satisfied  without,  you  shall  know  the 
cause :  though,  I  assure  you,  you  would  be  happier  in 
ignorance.  Yet,  rather  than  that  you  should  suspect 
me  of  any  crime,  I  will  tell  you  all" 

"  No,  no !  "  interrupted  the  lovely  girl,  "  tell  me 
nothing!  I  will  trust  to  the  words  you  have  spoken. 
Heart  and  soul  are  yours  already,  and,  if  you  say  so, 
to-night  I  will  be  yours !  " 

And  she  hid  her  blushing  face  in  his  bosom,  trem- 
bling and  confused. 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Linn  stood  in  the  temple. 
A  scornful  smile  was  on  her  lip,  and  her  eyes  flashed 
fire. 

"  So,  my  grateful,  loving  little  bird  is  going  to  fly 
away,  is  she  ?  I  shall  have  to  fasten  her  cage-doors 
to-night  Can  Mr.  Merefort  explain  the  meaning  of 
this  sensible  freak  ?  " 

Effie  lifted  up  her  face,  which  was  pale  now,  instead 
of  blushing,  and  stood  with  her  eyes  cast  down.  She 
had  always  feared  her  mother,  and  as  she  heard  her 
speak  in  that  distinct  and  hissing  tone,  she  clung  closer 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  273 

to  her  lover.     She   felt  that  those  great,  fiery  eyes 
would  annihilate  her  if  she  looked  up. 

"  I  can  not  explain,  Mrs.  Linn,"  said  the  young  man 
firmly,  "  you  have  given  your  child  to  me,  and  1  claim 
her  now." 

"  I  retract  the  promise  then,"  was  the  disdainful 
reply.  "I  did  not  anticipate  this;  it  was  not  part  of 
the  contract.  Can  you  tell  what  one  so  miserably, 
wretchedly  poor  as  you,  is  to  do  with  that  dainty, 
delicate,  luxurious  child?  You  are  very  discreet, 
Effie !  "  she  added,  with  an  accent  of  bitter  scorn. 

"  Mother ! "  said  that  fair  girl,  with  unusual  firm- 
ness, "you  chose  riches,  and  how  are  you  repaid? 
My  choice  is  love! "  and  her  small  hand  sought  that 
of  her  lover. 

"  Bless  you  Effie,"  said  the  young  man,  folding  his 
arms  around  her. 

"  Effie  will  stand  without  your  aid,  if  you  please," 
said  the  mother  haughtily. 

The  proud  man  pressed  her  closer,  looked  up  at  the 
excited  woman  with  a  calm  smile :  "  Henceforth  her 
home  is  here,"  he  said  with  dignified  tenderness. 

"  It  is  a  home  which  ill  befits  the  daughter  of  Isabel 
Linn ,"  was  the  sneering  reply.  "  /  have  a  presenti- 
ment that  my  dainty  child  Avill  not  live  very  long,  under 
such  gentle  care!"  And  a  flash  of  dark  triumph  made 
the  beautiful  fiend  look  awful. 


274  FRESH    LEAVES 

Cleveland  looked  steadily  in  those  triumphant  eyes, 
and  said  with  slow  and  distinct  emphasis, 

"  /  have  a  presentiment  that  she  will  live  longer 
even  in  my  humble  home,  than  under  the  care  of  her 
affectionate  mother.  That  the  potions  received  from 
David,  the  necromancer,  are  not  healthy  for  such  del- 
icate creatures,  let  the  late  death  of  your  flowers,  your 
canaries,  and  your  lap-dog  testify !" 

Effie  looked  up  with  a  startled  and  frightened  look, 
turning  as  white  as  a  lily,  as  she  met  her  mother's  gaze. 

For  a  moment  the  betrayed  and  discomfited  woman 
stood  motionless,  growing  paler  and  more  pale,  her 
great,  dark  eyes  were  distended  and  her  lips  parted ; 
then  pressing  her  hands  over  her  mouth,  as  if  to  repress 
the  thrilling  scream  which  burst  forth,  she  sunk  slowly 
down  to  the  floor. 

"  My  mother!"  murmured  Effio,  kneeling  beside  her, 
as  she  saw  a  crimson  torrent  of  blood  gush  from  the 
lips  of  the  magnificent  but  fatally-thwarted  woman. 

The  bloodvessel  which  burst,  proved  fatal ;  the  phy- 
sician, speedily  summoned,  could  not  save  her;  and  ere 
the  morning  broke,  she  was  dead. 

"Forgive  —  forgive!"  she  faintly  whispered,  some 
hours  before  she  expired.  And  Effis  and  Cleveland 
heard  her,  and  pressed  her  cold  hands. 

Her  death  was  an  accident  —  so  people  thought  — 
caused  by  falling,  and  receiving  an  interni?  iajury. 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS. 


275 


When  the  bright  form  of  Isabel  Linn  was  shrouded 
f.»r  the  coffin,  bitterly,  bitterly  Effie  wept  over  it  She 
Lad  already  forgotten  the  great  crime  her  mother  had 
meditated  against  her;  and  Cleveland  shuddered  and 
wept  too,  for  his  Effie's  sake. 

The  life  of  Isabel  had  been  a  mockery ;  for  she  wor- 
shiped riches  and  was  rewarded  accordingly.  She  was 
buried  with  funeral  pomp ;  and  that  was  the  end  of  all 

No,  not  yet  the  end ;  nor  yet  quite  a  mockery :  for 
Isabel  was  a  mother !  — mother  to  the  pure,  the  angel- 
like  and  surpassingly-lovely  wife  of  the  gifted  Cleveland 
Merefort;  the  sweet  woman  who  lived  so  many  years 
to  dispense  mercies  with  her  delicate  hands. 


276  FRESH     LB.AV1IS 


EDITH  MANFRED. 


PART  FIRST. 

H  A  DIM,  religious  light "  floated  through  the  little 
jLi.  chapel  that  stood  amid  a  group  of  grand  old 
trees  in  the  spacious  grounds  of  Manfred  Mansion.  It 
was  morning,  and  the  marriage  ceremony  was  being 
performed  in  the  chapel. 

The  bride  was  a  fair,  slight,  delicate  creature  of 
nineteen,  and  looked  wonderfully  beautiful  as  she 
stood  at  the  altar,  beside  the  tall,  elegant,  intellectual 
man  who  held  her  trembling  little  hand.  She  was 
the  frailest,  softest  being  that  ever  wore  bridal  flowers, 
and  exceedingly  lovely ;  her  form  was  like  a  spirit's, 
in  its  dress  of  gossamer  lace,  and  was  shadowed  by  a 
long,  rich  vail,  floating  from  her  beautiful  hair,  dark- 
brown  and  silken,  that  was  parted  simply  over  her 
pale  forehead,  and  done  up  in  glossy  bands  around 


FROM    WKSTERX    WOODS.  277 

her  head.  Her  large,  blue  eyes  rested  upon  the  floor, 
and  their  long  black  lashes  on  her  flushed  checks. 
There  was  more  than  one  among  the  guests,  who, 
wrapt  and  silent,  gazed  upon  her  spiritual  expression 
and  fragile  beaut}-,  who  almost  forgot  that  she  was  of  ' 
earth,  and  turned  away,  at  the  close  of  the  evening, 
with  a  sigh,  and  with  a  feeling  that  one  so  gentle  and 
delicate  was  not  long  for  the  cherishing  of  love  below. 
But  no  one  could  have  thought  at  that  happy  hour, 
that  there  was  a  strange,  mysterious  drama  to  be 
acted  out  with  the  help  of  that  blissful,  and  beautiful 
creature. 

The  relatives  of  the  bride  stood  near  her.  The 
mother  was  a  pale,  sweet  woman,  youthful  in  appear- 
ance, and  aristocratic,  though  gentle.  She  looked 
upon  her  daughter  with  the  yearning,  tearful,  careful 
expression  of  natural  love.  The  father  gave  away 
the  bride.  He  was  a  noble,  and  rather  handsome 
man,  with  merry,  hazel  eyes,  and  a  laughing  mouth. 
Though  an  Englishman,  living  in  America,  he  was 
neither  haughty  nor  insolent,  but  humorous,  refined, 
educated,  and  altogether  an  interesting  man. 

Close  clinging  to  her  mother's  hand,  a  little  girl  of 
eight  years  old,  looked  up  with  wondering  smiles  and 
tears,  to  the  timidly  happy  face  of  her  beautiful  sister. 
Then  she  turned  her  eyes  to  the  proud  man  who  was 
to  take  her  sister  from  her,  and  whispered  to  her 
12* 


278  FKKSH     LEAVES 

mother,  with  an  expression  of  childish  feeling  in  her 
face :  — 

"  Mamma,  if  brother  Herbert  marries  Edith,  can  't 
he  marry  me  sometimes  too  ?  " 

This  child  looked  like  her  father;  her  dancing  curls 
of  golJ  promised  to  deepen  to  soft  brown,  and  her 
dark  eyes  had  the  same  merry  and  intelligent  expres-i 
sion  that  always  beamed  from  his.  She  was  his  pet; 
but  Edith  was  his  wonder — his  idol  —  his  tender 
thought  —  almost  his  religion.  These,  then,  were 
the  relatives;  the  small  chapel  was  filled  with  the  few 
friends  who  lived  near  —  there  not  being  more  than  a 
dozen  neighbors  in  the  surrounding  country. 

When  the  solemn  rites  were  concluded,  Edith  raised 
her  eyes  to  her  husband's  face,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  happy  and  immeasurable  love.  That  soft,  pure 
glance  seemed  to  fill  the  place  with  its  tender  radi- 
ance, and,  timid  though  it  was,  it  fell  like  corroding 
poison  on  the  soul  of  one  of  the  guests. 

He  was  a  dark-looking  man  of  thirty,  with  a  coun- 
tenance developed  with  many  virtues,  and  more  vices— 
passionate,  gentle,  fierce,  sensual,  spiritual — a  strange 
blending  of  uncommon  and  splendid  gifts,  and  low 
desires.  In  the  depths  of  his  gray-blue  eye,  in  the 
curving  of  his  mouth,  in  his  massive  forehead,  and 
heavy  brow,  lay  an  expression  of  mighty  power,  for 
good  and  evil 


FROM     WESTEKN     WOODS.  279 

Once,  only,  he  had  sued  for  the  hand  of  Edith 
Manfred.  She  had  ggntly  refused  him,  when  he 
knew  that  her  affections  belonged  to  none  other;  a 

O 

man  of  his  perceptions  could  not  but  understand  the 
almost  loathing  of  her  shrinking  manner,  though,  with 
intuitive  gentleness,  she  strove  to  conceal  it. 

He  accepted  her  refusal,  and  went  away,  never 
troubling  her  again ;  and,  though  she  felt,  at  the  time 
of  his  proposal,  how  strongly  he  loved  her,  yet  she  now 
supposed  him  to  have  forgotten  his  hopeless  passion. 

But  when  she  turned  away  her  beautiful  eyes  from 
her  husband's  face,  by  chance  she  met  the  fixed  gaze 
of  her  old  lover,  and  she  shuddered  and  turned  pale. 
He  smiled  as  he  saw  the  effect  of  his  glance.  She 
turned  yet  paler  at  that  mysterious  and  not  loving 
smile,  and  pressed  closer  to  her  chosen  one's  side. 
But  those  who  observed  the  change,  attributed  it  to 
natural  emotion. 

Before  the  guests  departed,  the  bride-cake  was  cut, 
and  distributed. 

"  I  have  found  the  ring,  and,  of  course,  will  be  mar- 
ried first,  will  I  not,  Mrs.  Herbert  Delaney?" 

Again  the  bride  started  —  partly  to  hear  her  new- 
name,  and  partly  at  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  deep 
voice  and  look ;  the  fortunate  finder  was  her  old  lover, 
Burt  McSweeney. 


280  FRESH     LEAVES 


PART   SECOND. 

"VTOTHING  could  exceed  the  happiness  of  the  young 
jj(  bride,  during  the  first  three  weeks  of  the  marriage. 
Herbert  had  taken  her  to  the  city,  and  placed  her  in 
a  fashionable  boarding-house.  They  were  to  remain 
there  during  the  winter;  affording  him  an  opportunity 
to  withdraw  from  business,  as  a  popular  lawyer:  the 
parents  of  Edith  were  so  unwilling  to  part  with  her, 
that  he  had  consented  to  make  his  home  with  them. 

When  a  young  man,  and  Edith  was  a  mere  babe, 
Mr.  Manfred,  from  fancy,  or  a  deeper  reason,  left 
England  for  our  country,  and  chose  the  beautiful 
situation  where  he  now  resided,  adding  all  that  wealth 
could,  to  make  it  the  most  elegant  country-seat  in  the 
state.  They  lived  very  retired,  himself  and  his  gen- 
tle and  lovely  wife,  so  that  Edith  had  seen  but  little 
of  the  world  at  the  time  she  was  married. 

A  purer,  sweeter,  more  enthusiastic  young  creature 
never  existed,  than  the  lovely  Edith.  Three  weeks 
after  her  marriage,  she  sat  in  a  luxuriously-furnished 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.         281 

room  on  the  ft-st  floor  of  their  boarding-house.  She 
sat  near  the  window,  but  was  not  looking  out;  her 
eyes  were  drooped  in  a  reverie,  and  her  expressive 
face  wore  a  look  of  the  most  unutterable  bliss  and 
joy.  Since  she  came  to  the  city,  she  had  been  in  a  be- 
wilderment of  happiness.  Every  thing  she  saw  was 
novel  and  delightful — the  leisure  hours  of  her  husband 
were  spent  in  showing  the  wonders  of  the  city.  This 
task  to  him  was  exceedingly  pleasant,  for  not  only  did 
her  rare  beauty  and  grace  excite  the  most  profound 
admiration,  but  a  new  phase  of  happiness  was  revealed 
to  him,  through  the  genius,  taste,  enthusiasm,  and 
childish,  artless  enjoyment  of  his  young  wife.  And  to 
be  with  him,  and  have  such  a  world  of  scenes  and 
new  emotions  and  thoughts  to  enjoy,  made  her  heart 
light  and  happy,  and  her  sweet  face  radiant  It  was 
not  foolish,  thoughtless  happiness,  but  pure  a*nd  ra- 
tional; and  the  radiance  was  such  as  shines  forth 
from  but  few  of  the  beautiful  faces  on  earth  —  for  to 
but  few  is  given  Edith's  power  of  loving,  or  her  inno- 
cence, or  her  genius. 

When  Herbert  was  absent  during  those  happy 
days,  she  would  sit  for  hours  dreaming  over  his  com- 
ing, his  words,  his  looks,  the  past,  the  future;  and 
the  days  were  not  long  enough  for  her  to  dream,  and 
muse,  and  love.  Sometimes  the  feeling  would  come 
over  her  that  she  was  too  happy;  and  she  would 


282  FRESH     LEAVES 

cover  her  innocent  face  with  those  little,  soft  hands, 
and  pray  that  she  might  not  love  too  much. 

Thus  passed  the  time  till  the  day  she  sat  by  the 
window,  awaiting  the  return  of  her  husband.  Pres- 
ently he  came,  and  she  bounded  to  meet  him.  There 
was  the  wonted  kiss,  and  the  fair  creature  led  him 
to  the  sofa, 

"  Edith,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  down,  "  I  must  leave 
you  in  a  ftw  moments,  to  be  gone  three  days.  It  is 
too,  too  bad,  is  n't  it,  dear  Edith  ?  but  I  hope  these 
ugly  business  arrangements  will  some  time  be  com- 
pleted, and  then — " 

He  did  not  finish,  but  holding  her  dear  face  softly 
in  his  hands  and  bringing  it  close  to  his  own,  looked 
tenderly  into  the  eyes  already  brimming  with  tears. 

"  I  shall  not  have  the  heart  to  go,  if  I  see  tears," 
he  continued ;  "  and  you  know  I  would  not  leave  you 
a  moment,  but  from  necessity.  You  should  go  with 
me,  dearest,  but  it  is  bitter  cold,  and  I  shall  be  too 
busy  to  take  care  of  you." 

"But  I  have  never  even  thought  of  your  going 
aw.ay,  Herbert,"  said  the  young  wife,  with  an  effort  to 
smile. 

"  See !  the  cars  leave  in  twenty  minutes,"  he  said, 
taking  out  his  watch.  "  I  shall  surely  be  home  at 
three  o'clock  day  after  to-morrow.  And  there  is  an 
old  acquaintance  of  yours  in  the  city,  who  will  call  on 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  283 

you;  I  gave  him  our  address;  it  is  Burt  McSweeney," 
and  he  rose  to  go. 

"  Burt  McSweeney,"  said  Edith,  with  an  involuntary 
shudder. 

"  Do  n't  you  like  him,  my  love  ?  " 

"No,  Herbert,  I  always  had  a  dread  of  him;  I  do 
not  know  why.  I  presume  it  is  foolish,  but  I  can  't 
help  it.  Oh,  Herbert,  I  feel  so  dreadful  to  have  you 
leave  me  now !  " 

"  Dreadful !  "  said  the  husband  with  a  smile,  press- 
ing the  fond  creature  to  his  side.  She  clung  to  him 
as  if  the  parting  was  for  years. 

There  was  a  passionate  embrace,  and  the  young 
man  hurried  from  the  room,  while  Edith  sank  weeping 
upon  the  sofa. 

Suddenly  the  door  again  opened,  and  Herbert  re-en- 
tered ;  a  sharp  pang  of  agony  had  thrilled  through  his 
heart  as  he  left  the  presence  of  his  wife — a  feeling  he 
did  not  understand  —  only  it  prompted  him  to  return 
and  look  on  her  again.  She  sprang  toward  him,  and 
again  there  was  a  quick,  close,  convulsive  embrace  — 
and  he  was  gone. 

The  next  day,  as  Herbert  had  mentioned,  Burt 
McSweeney  called  on  Mrs.  Delaney. 

She  received  him  with  gentle  politeness,  inquiring 
after  her  friends,  and  anxiously  after  her  loved  parents. 
He,  in  turn,  was  formal,  polite,  and  rather  kind.  His 


284  FRESH     LEAVES 

manner  was  peculiar,  yet  fascinating.  There  was  not 
a  smile  to  make  her  turn  pale,  nor  a  look  to  make  her 
shudder;  she  thought  him  far  more  pleasing  than 
ever  before,  and  almost  forgot  her  former  involuntary 
dread.  He  had  so  much  to  say  to  her  about  her 
friends,  that  as  he  rose  to  go,  she  begged  him  to  sit 
longer,  and  tell  her  of  every  thing  that  had  transpired 
since  she  left  Manfred  mansion,  adding  in  conclusion, 
"  I  am  very  lonely  without  Herbert" 

He  resumed  his  seat,  and  said  with  a  smile,  "  Then 
you  have  already  learned  not  to  live  without  him  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  could  not  part  from  him  long,"  replied  the 
young  wife,  turning  her  large  eyes  upon  the  peculiar 
face  of  her  visitor.  Again  he  smiled,  and,  after  half 
an  hour's  further  conversation,  rose  and  retired. 

The  night  of  that  day  was  remarkably  cold.  There 
was  a  brisk,  piercing,  intense  air,  full,  as  it  were,  of  icy 
needles  stinging  the  poor  to  death.  It  was  one  of 
those  still,  dark  nights  that  chills  the  wanderer,  makes 
the  insurance  company  think  of  fires,  and  causes  the 
poverty-stricken  to  suffer  and  die.  That  night  Edith 
Manfred  prayed  fervently  for  her  absent  husband, 
and  then  nestling  among  the  warm  pillows,  slept 
soundly  and  sweetly. 

Toward  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  cry  of  fire 
rang  through  one  of  the  streets  of  the  city.  A  crowd 
gathered — the  firemen  came — it  was  the  fashionable 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  285 

boarding-house  in  which  young  Edith  slept  Out  into 
the  freezing  air,  hurried  the  half-clad  inmates;  for  it 
was  a  terrible  night  for  fire;  and,  giving  up  all  hope 
of  saving  that  building,  the  firemen  directed  their 
efforts  toward  those  adjoining. 

There  were  not  many  boarders  in  the  house ;  it 
accommodated  but  a  certain  number;  and,  as  they 
grouped  together  for  a  moment,  they  looked  upon 
each  other  to  see  if  all  were  there. 

Suddenly  arose  the -cry  from  among  them,  "The 
bride !  the  bride !  Mrs.  Delaney !  she  is  not  here !  she 
is  lost !  "  The  crowd  took  up  the  terrible  burden, 
shouting  her  name  in  terror;  but  there  was  no  reply. 

Hundreds  surrounded  the  now  all-in-a-blaze  build- 
ing. A  daring  fireman  mounted  to  her  window ;  but 
it  was  of  no  avail,  for  the  flames  burst  from  it  and 
drove  him  back.  The  fire  seemed  to  have  originated 
in  her  chamber. 

The  ladies  of  the  house,  fainting  with  terror,  were 
borne  away.  But,  long  after  the  house  was  consumed, 
a  crowd  of  persons,  pale  and  agitated,  stood  around 
the  spot  where  it  had  been,  talking,  in  low  tones,  of 
the  terrible  fate  of  the  beautiful  bride;  and  many 
were  still  there  when  the  morning  came,  idly  looking 
on  the  smoking  ruins. 

"Married  but  three  weeks,  I  am  told,  and  very 
young !  "  said  one  of  the  bystanders. 


286  FRESH     LEAVES 

"  And  her  husband  away —  how  will  he  take  it  ?  " 
added  another. 

The  next  moment,  a  man  forced  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  stood  by  the  speakers.  It  was  Her- 
bert He  had  returned  in  the  morning  instead  of 
afternoon  train.  "  What!  a  fire!"  he  exclaimed  in 
surprise.  "  Can  any  one  le.ll  me  where  my  wife,  Mrs. 
Delaney,  was  taken  ?  "  he  asked  of  one  of  the  men  in 
sudden  agitation. 

The  man  was  a  rude,  coarse  fellow,  but  even  he 
turned  white  in  sympathy  with  the  husband. 

There  was  profound  stillness  in  the  whole  crowd. 
Struck  by  this  and  the  frightened  appearance  of  the 
men,  with  a  terrible  presentiment,  Herbert  leaned, 
nearly  fainting,  against  the  person  behind  him. 

"  It  is  thought  —  that  the  fire  —  came  from  the 
lady's  — " 

"What?— what? — what?"  shrieked  Delaney. 

Awed  and  terrified  by  his  intense  gaze,  the  poor 
man  made  no  reply. 

"  Speak!  "  cried  Herbert,  "  speak!  " 

"  Mrs.  Delaney  was  —  burned !  " 

At  this  moment,  a  friend  of  the  sufferer  stepped 
up,  and,  hastening  to  his  side,  exclaimed: 

"  For  heaven's  sake !  be  a  man,  Delaney." 

"  Great  God !  "  was  the  reply,  in  a  voice  so  hollow 
and  awful,  that  the  stoutest  man  there  shivered  as  he 


FROM    -WESTERN    WOODS.  287 

heard  it.  As  he  spoke,  he  fell  into  the  arms  of  his 
friend,  convulsed,  and  was  borne  awav. 

That  same  afternoon,  just  at  sunset,  a  traveling 
carriage  dashed  up  to  the  door  of  Mr.  Manfred. 

"Oh,  papa!  mamma!  Edith's  come!  I  see  Her- 
bert! "  shouted  the  little  Annabel,  bounding  up  the 
steps.  Before  the  glad  parents  reached  the  door, 
Herbert  staggered  in,  but  there  was  no  Edith! 

His  burning  eyes  met  those  of  the  wondering  pa- 
rents; he  leaned  silently  against  the  wall,  pale  and 
changed,  with  a  wild,  almost  insane  expression  upon 
his  hollow  countenance. 

"  Where  is  our  daughter  ?  "  asked  both  the  parents, 
turning  toward  each  other. 

He  looked  at  them,  and,  with  a  fearful  smile,  replied 
slowly — 

"She  — is  — dead!" 


288  FRESH     LEAVES 


PART    THIRD. 

A  YEAR  after  these  events,  the  Manfred  family 
returned  to  England.      They  could  not  endure 
the  place  of  such  memories. 

The  mother  looked  feebler  and  less  proud  than 
hitherto;  the  father  was  now  gray  and  old.  Life  and 
joy  seemed  to  flow  quickly  in  but  one  bosom,  that  of 
the  little,  merry,  beautiful  Annabel;  though  even  she 
was  saddened  by  the  grief  of  those  around.  Herbert 
went  with  them ;  and  he  was  the  most  changed  of  all 
His  sparkling  wit,  his  brilliant  face,  the  glory  of  his 
hopes  were  changed.  He  had  recovered  from  the 
first  shock  of  his  desolation,  and  the  illness  that  fol- 
lowed —  but  he  was  a  grave,  silent  man.  A  cloud, 
that  could  not  be  dissipated,  enveloped  the  sun  of  his 
cheerfulness;  only  a  faint  twilight  glimmer  struggled 
through  the  gloom  —  it  was  his  gentle  sweetness. 
And,  in  the  midst  of  this  darkness  of  the  mind,  tliis 
sadness  of  the  soul,  shone  out  a  bright,  particular 
star,  that  carried  him  onward  —  Edith  in  heaven. 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  269 

The  old  ancestral  halls  of  the  Manfred  castle  again 
received  the  last  descendants  —  the  stricken  parents 
and  the  radiant  child,  destined  to  be  the  sunlight 
of  the  hearth,  and,  with  them,  the  man  they  loved 
as  a  son. 

Weeks  and  months  passed  away  slowly.  It  was 
necessary  that  Herbert  should  occupy  his  time  and 
mind,  to  prevent  his  grief  from  injuring  his  health: 
and,  under  his  direction,  the  old  place  grew  bright 
and  beautiful.  The  most  of  his  quiet  hours  were 
passed  in  the  library ;  and  here  the  young  Annabel 
would  find  him  absorbed  in  books,  or  lost  in  thought 
Then  she  would  tease  him  away  from  them  ;  she 
would  even  make  him  sometimes  smile  at  her  willful 
caprice.  Over  her  parents,  she  exerted  the  same 
happy  influence,  and  something,  that  was  almost  gay- 
ety,  at  times  came  over  the  group.  Every  day,  tln'ir 
only  remaining  child  became  dearer  to  the  bereaved 
parents ;  and,  as  she  approached  maidenhood,  an  affec- 
tion, the  most  intense,  because  shadowed  by  sorrow, 
was  centered  in  her. 

Annabel  was  a  bewitching  creature,  with  a  heart 
brimful  of  love  and  joy,  with  a  crimson  cheek  and  a 
laughing,  dark  eye,  and  chestnut  curls,  and  a  bright, 
saucy,  yet  loving,  lip;  in  sweetness  and  purity  like 
Edith,  yet  different  —  more  proud,  and  not  so  spirit- 
ual So  was  her  face  something  like  her  lost  sister's; 


290  FRESH    LEAVES 

•when  she  was  pensive,  it  was  much  so.  Herbert  used 
to  look  at  her  and  sigh  heavily. 

If  there  was  any  thing  which  would  call  out  the 
sympathies  of  her  warm  and  passionate  nature,  it  was 
the  pontinual  sadness  upon  the  brow  of  Delaney,  long 
after  her  parents  began  to  smile,  and  even  to  plan  for 
the  future.  Every  delicate  attention,  every  running 
tear,  every  tender  little  action  of  the  child  —  she  was 
yet  a  child  —  went  to  soothe  the  dark  soul  of  her 
brother.  When  he  was  present,  her  eyes  followed 
his,  her  sweetest  smiles  were  for  him,  she  sat  by  him 
at  the  table,  she  gathered  flowers  for  his  window. 

In  return,  he  taught  her  the  most  of  her  accom- 
plishments —  music,  drawing,  riding,  the  languages, 
book-knowledge  —  he  was  her  teacher  in  all. 

She  looked  particularly  charming,  riding  her  splen- 
did steed,  her  long  curls  floating  on  the  air,  and  her 
fair  cheeks  glowing.  Herbert  was  always  with  her, 
when  she  went  qut  He  was  a  fine  musician,  and  she 
had  a  great  natural  talent  for  music  —  and  they  sang 
and  played  much  together. 

He  was  a  profound  scholar,  and  the  roguish,  care- 
less Annabel,  at  thirteen,  was  a  wonderful  proficient 
in  every  thing  he  taught  her — educated  and  accom- 
plished. 

She  used  to  beg  him  to  read  to  her  from  the  vol- 
umes of  poetry  on  the  library  shelf  -—  listening,  with 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  291 

tearful  eyes,  to  the  beautiful  passages  pronounced  in 
his  eloquent  apd  touching  way. 

He  was  a  most  dangerously-fascinating  companion 
to  the  susceptible  young  girl  —  to  whom,  besides  her 
parents,  he  was  her  all  of  love  and  society.  Yet, 
strangely  enough,  Herbert  never  thought  of  this  dan- 
ger, as  grateful  to  her  for  her  kind,  and  soothing,  and 
joyful  influence,  he  bestowed  upon  her  all  he  had  to 
give  of  gratitude,  affection,  and  care. 

About  this  time,  Delaney  went  to  London  to  trans- 
act some  business  for  Mr.  Manfred.  It  was  five  years 
that  day,  since  the  terrible  event  which  had  desolated 
his  heart,  that  he  walked  through  the  streets  of  the 
immense  city.  Thinking  of  this,  he  forgot  where  he 
was,  till  suddenly  he  paused  before  the  large  glass 
window  of  a  mantaumaker's  shop.  The  door,  from 
the  show-room  into  the  apartment  where  the  girls 
were  sewing,  was  open,  and,  as  he  looked  up,  full  of 
thoughts  of  the  past,  there,  as  if  the  embodiment  of 
his  fancy  had  risen  up,  sat  Edith. 

So  he  thought  for  the  moment  that  his  eyes  rested 
on  the  pale  face  bent  low  over  the  rich  garment.  But 
that  beautiful  vision  suddenly  hiid  down  her  work  and 
disappeared  into  a  back  apartment,  leaving  Herbert, 
with  his  heart  standing  still,  gazing  upon  the  door 
through  which  she  had  disappeared. 

For  several  moments,  he  stood  motionless,  and  then 


292  FRESH    LE  AVKS 

passed  on  muttering,  "Insane!  insane!  to  think  it 
was  my  dead  Edith!  my  Edith  in  heaven!  Yet  how 
like  her!  oh  God!" 

The  sudden  sight  of  one  so  closely  resembling  the 
radiant  creature,  tilled  him  with  anguish  almost  insup- 
portable. It  was  as  if  he  had  seen  her  rise  from  the 
grave  before  him. 

Again  and  again,  as  long  as  he  remained  in  Lon- 
don, he  returned  to  the  same  place,  to  look  again 
upon  the  woman  who  was  so  much  like  his  angel; 
but  he  never  saw  her  more ;  and  he  began  to  think, 
at  last,  that  it  was  a  mere  phantom  of  his  brain. 
Yet,  long  after  he  returned  to  Manfred  castle,  that 
pale,  sweet  face  haunted  him  day  and  night,  and  he 
became  sadder  and  more  depressed  than  he  had  been 
for  many  months  before.  Then,  at  the  sight  of  a 
sorrow  from  which  she  could  not  win  him,  the  first 
cloud  came  over  the  sunny  spirit  of  Annabel 


FROM   WESTERN    WOODS. 


PART    FOURTH. 

IT  was  near  the  seventeenth  birthday  of  their  daugh- 
ter, that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manfred  consulted  together 
about  a  darling  plan  that  had  long  lain  quietly  in  each 
of  their  hearts,  and  promised  them  joy.  They  wished 
Herbert  to  wed  Annabel.  They  feared  that  he  might 
some  time  leave  them,  and  that  then  the  heart  of  their 
only  child  would  break.  For,  with  a  mother's  eyes, 
Mrs.  Manfred  had  discovered  the  secret  of  Annabel's 
heart,  through  her  glances  and  her  blushes,  and  she 
knew  that  the  very  soul  of  her  daughter  was  wrapped 
up  in  the  fascinating  man  who  had  been  her  compan- 
ion from  childhood.  She  knew  that  Herbert  loved 
the  bright  girl  with  a  brother's  love,  and  she  hoped 
with  more ;  but  she  feared  that  he  would  never  offer 
to  marry  her.  Yet  she  felt  it  would  be  best  for  th° 
young  couple  to  be  united,  for  her  parents  might  die, 
and,  then,  who  would  be  Annabel's  protector  ? 

That  day,  at  the  end  of  the  conference  with  her  hus- 
band, they  sent  for  Herbert  to  come  to  their  room,  and 
13 


204  FRESH     LEAVES 

the  matter  was  proposed.      He  was  evidently  startled 
and  grieved. 

«No,  no,  never!  my  Edith!  I  can  not!' 
claimed,  as  he  hastily  paced  the  apartment 

"You  will  listen?"  said  the  mother,  and  she  i 
vealed  to  him  the  entire  love  Annabel  cherished  : 
him,  and  pictured   the   position   of   their  darling,  so 
young,  so  beautiful,  so  unprotected,  should  her  pa- 
rents  be  suddenly  called  away. 

For  half  an  hour,  the  parents  waited,  in  silent  expec 
tation,  as  he  hastily  tramped  through  the  room;  and 
then  he  approached,  and  with  eyes  full  of  teai 
a  hand  of  each,  pressed  them  warmly,  and  replied: 

«  yes— yes— Annabel  must  be  my  wife,"  and  then 
passed  quickly  from  their  presence,  leaving  them  sat- 
isfied that  thrir  children  both  would  yet  be  happy. 

Herbert  went  down  to  the  library,  and  taking  a 
book,  threw  himself  on  a  sofa,  and  was  soon  lost  in 
earnest  thoughts. 

A  li<rljt   step  broke  upon  his  musing  mood;    1 
looked  up;    it  was  Annabel.     "They  are  right,"  he 
thouo-ht,  as  he  marked  the  color  deepen  on  her  cheek, 
and  her  moist,  dark  « yes  quiver  and  droop, 
was  too,  a  melancholy  shade  over  her  bright  face. 

«  Come  here,  dear  Annabel,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone; 
and  she  obeyed,  and  sat  by  his  side;  and,  for  a  Ic 
time,  he  read  to  her  from  a  volume  of  poems  —  read 


FROM    WESTERN     WOODS.  295 

of  love!      At  length  twilight  compelled  him 
aside  his   book,  and,  through   the  dim  utnv- 
looking  upon  the  beautiful  face  lying  on  his  sl> 
he  saw  it  was  bathed  in  tears. 

He  took  up  the  soft  little  hand  from  her  lap,  and 
pressed  it  gently  in  both  his;  and,  unable  any  longer 
to  repress  her  grief,  the  young  girl  sobbed  aloud. 

He  took  her  close  to  his  bosom,  and,  laying  his  check 
against  her  dark  curls,  he  whispered  in  her  ear — 

"  Annabel,  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

The  weeping  girl  shrank  away  from  his  arms  — 

her  heart  that  moment  was  revealed  to  itself  —  yet 

-lie   unspeakably  happy  ;  bashfulncss  and  bliss 

broke    over  her  young    face,  and    Herbert   saw  the 

whole  of  her  loving  heart,  and  saw  that  it  \\ 

"  I  have  but  a  grief-stricken  heart  to  give  in  return 
for  your  young  and  joyous  one ;  I  am  not  fit  to  be  the 
husband  of  one  so  bright  and  fair;  but  oh,  Annabel! 
if  I  can,  by  care  and  devotion,  make  you  hajij 
shall  have  all  I  have  left  of  love  from  the  gi 
poor  Edith ! " 

In  a  few  weeks,  Annabel  was  seventeen.  On  the 
morning  of  that  day,  nine  \vai-  Herbert  had 

wedded  the  spiritual,  ill-fated  Edith,  and  the  li; 
ter  had  asked — "If  he  could  not  marry  her,  too?' 

Now,  that  same  sister  and  himself  stood  to. 
at  the  altar,  in  a  little  chapel,  the  counterpart  of  thu 


296  FRESH    LEAVES 

other.  It  was  in  the  afternoon,  and  there  were  no 
witnesses  except  the  household.  A  golden,  autumn 
sunlight  flooded  the  place,  and  a  beautiful  stream 
outside  murmured  gently,  as  it  were,  a  bridal  hymn. 

The  bridegroom  was  very  pale  and  composed ;  the 
bride  agitated.  The  ceremony  had  but  just  com- 
menced, when  a  vision  appeared  at  the  chapel  door — 
pale,  thin,  but  almost  as  beautiful  as  ever,  there  stood 
Edith !  Her  mother  shrieked  out,  and  the  bride  faint- 
ed in  terror;  for  her  sister,  she  thought,  had  risen 
from  the  dead  to  rebuke  her! 

But  Herbert  heeded  not  the  fair  creature  who  fell 
at  his  feet  His  thoughts  ran  back  to  the  phantom  he 
had  seen  in  the  mantaumaker's  shop,  and  he  knew — 
what?  —  Edith's  eyes  had  met  his;  they  sprang  to- 
ward each  other;  and  oh!  the  untold  rapture  of  that 
meeting,  after  nine  years  of  absence,  mourning,  and 
agony  5 

The  parents  soon  felt  that  she  was  no  spirit,  and 
the  loved,  lost  child  was  folded  in  their  arms.  In  that 
moment,  all  forgot  for  what  they  had  gathered  in  the 
chapel  —  all  but  Annabel,  who  had  risen  from  the 
floor,  and  stood  leaning  against  the  altar — speechless, 
quivering,  burning  with  agony,  her  hands  clasped  over 
her  forehead,  and  her  wild,  dark  eyes  turned  to  the 
faces  of  Edith  and  Herbert  A  lingering  illness  fol- 
lowed this  sudden  reversion  of  feeling;  for  several 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS. 


297 


weeks,  she  was  confined  to  her  bed.  But,  when  she 
did  recover,  the  sparkling  Annabel  was  much  changed. 
She  was  a  proud  girl,  and,  for  the  world,  she  would 
not  have  stayed  near  Herbert 

"  Mother !  "  she  cried,  one  day  as  she  sat  in  her  in- 
valid's chamber — "  have  I  not  an  aunt  in  London,  who 
once  invited  me  to  spend  a  year  with  her  ?  " 

And  when  she  was  sufficiently  strong  to  bear  the 
fatigues  of  travel  Annabel  went  to  London. 


FRESH     LEAVES 


PART    FIFTH. 

((  rPELL  me  over  again  the  strange  incidents  of  our 
JL  separation  —I  never  tire  of  hearing  them  from 
those  dear  lips,"  said  Herbert —  as  he  sat  by  his  wife, 
fondly  holding  her  hands,  a  year  after  the  events 
detailed  in  the  last  chapter. 

The  wife  smiled  a  sweet,  but  half-sad  smile,  and 
told,  even  for  the  twentieth  time,  her  little  history. 

"  I  was  awakened  from  my  sleep,  that  dreadful 
night,  by  the  glare  of  flames  in  my  room.  I  would 
have  shrieked,  but,  at  that  moment  some  one  bent 
over  me,  and  told  me  to  fly — the  building  was  on  fire! 
I  was  too  terrified  to  recognize  him — I  thought  it  was 
you,  for  I  had  just  dreamed  that  you  had  returned; 
and  flung  myself  into  his  arms.  In  two  moments,  my 
self-possession  returned — and  oh!  the  fear  and  despair 
with  which  I  found  my  mouth  was  bandaged,  and  I 
!>,-in<_>;  carried  of!'  in  the  arms  of  Burt  McSwcc- 
ney! — the  man  I  had  from  childhood  teaivd  and 
disliked !  — who  I  knew  loved  me  to  death,  to  crime, 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  299 

and  to  desperation !  I  would  not  cry  out  —  I  could 
not  free  myself;  but  I  could  not  faint — though  terror 
and  anguish  made  me  sick  and  Aveak,  I  would  nut  -ivc 
way  to  faintness  ;  but  strove  with  a  strong  mastery 
over  the  emotions  that  shook  me !  " 

"  My  noble  Edith,"  interrupted  Herbert 
"  Can  I  ever  tell  you  about  the  rest  of  that  awful 
night,  and  the  long,  long  day  that  followed  ?  "  contin- 
ued Edith.  "When  the  bandage  was  removed  from 
my  mouth,  and  I  was  put  down  from  his  hateful  hold, 
I  was  in  the  poor  cabin  of  a  little  vessel  bound  for 
England,  the  captain  of  which  had  been  hired  by  Burt 
to  keep  his  secret  My  captor  w;us  obliged  to  return 
on  shore  to  finish  his  preparations  for  the  voyage,  and 
it  was  after  daylight  that  he  came  back  to  tell  me 
with  horrible  minuteness  the^upposed  circumstances 
of  cny  loss,  and  thft,  despair  ifflfeanguish  of  my  hus- 
band. He  thenagain  went  out,  after  bringing  in 
breakfast,  and  fastened  the  cabin  door,  as  the  vessel 
could  not  leave  till  night  All  day  I  sat  in  mute  and 
motionless  agony  —  then  the  vessel  began  to  move  — 
then  we  were  out  on  the  ocean  —  night  dark. -n.-d 
ird|nd— there  was  no  escape!  Oh,  Herbert!  at  last 
1  knelt  to  pray  to  God.  An  hour —  twjj—  three  — 
and  .still  I  knelt  and  prayed  franticly.  Some  on$ 
^ume  to  the  door — opened  it  —  came  up  to  me,  as, 
with  my  face  buried  in  my  hands,  I  prayed  in  agony t 


t 


300  FKESH     LEAVES 

My  heart  leaped,  as  the  person  spoke  —  it  was  not 
he !  —  it  was  the  captain,  who  said :  'The  lady's  luvcr 
has  been  taken  very  ill,  and  wants  to  see  her.' 

"  Was  it  in  answer  to  my  prayer  ?  I  went  up  with 
my  informer,  and  saw  the  strong  man  in  spasms,  and 
pitied  him,  and  pitied  myself  !  Then  I .  begged  and 
implored  the  captain  to  turn  back  with  me :  I  offered 
gold  uncounted;  but  he  only  smiled  —  McSweency's 
purse  was  more  substantial  than  my  promise.  For  a 
whole  week  the  suffering  man  kept  his  bed  —  it  was  a 
fearful  week  to  me — and  he  was  very  ill  At  length  he 
crawled  one  day  upon  deck  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air.  The 
water  was  quite  rough  —  he  was  weak  —  and  a  pitch 
of  the  vessel  threw  him  overboard.  How  I  shuddered 
when  they  told  ,me  he  was  swept  away  with  all  his 
many  crimes  upon  him^and  how  I  rejoiced  that  I  was 
free  from  his  power  — ?ros  love,  or  his  hate ! 

"But  oh!  how  I  pined  during  the  remainder  of  that 
long  voyage.  I  was  then  the  only  passenger,  and  when 
Burt  was  drowned,  his  purse  went  with  Mm.  At  length 
we  reached  England,  but  the  evil  captain  refused  to 
take  me  back,  for  fear  of  punishment.  I  was  then 
alone  and  desolate  in  a  great  city,  and  pennyless!  I 
went  to  different  vessels  to  beg  a  passage  home ;  but 
my  youth  and  beauty  were  then  a  curse ;  I  found  that 
my  story  was  not  believed ;  and,  with  a  breaking  heart 
I  flew  away  from  disgusting  smiles  and  leers 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  301 

"With  life  and  love  who  could  despair?  My  gar- 
ments were  yet  good,  and  I  procured  employment  in 
the  shop  where  you  once  came  so  near  finding  me. 
I  wrote  home  —  the  letter  must  have  miscarried ;  I 
wrote  again  —  but  by  that  time  you  had  left  America. 

You  were  near  me,  but  I  knew  it  not     Madam  B 

was  pleased  with  my  industry,  and  I  worked  only  for 
her.  Day  and  night  I  toiled  to  lay  up  means  to  pay 
my  passage  home;  but  wages  were  very  low,  and  I 
could  do  but  little  more  than  support  myself.  Thus 
passed  away  nine  long  and  bitter  years,  when  one  day 
a  roll  of  silk  came  folded  in  a  printed  paper.  As  I 
glanced  over  it,  I  caught  my  father's  name  and  yours: 
it  was  a  business  advertisement,  and  gave  your  address. 
J  fainted  in  my  chair — the  mistress  thought  1  was  ill; 
but  the  next  day  I  started  for  home,  for  love,  for  you !". 

She  looked  up  with  a  kind  of  mournful  smile  as  she 
concluded,  that  despite  her  present  happin- 
the  gloom  and  sorrow  that  so  long  had  pressed  upon 
her.  The  husband  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and  kissed 
her  over  and  over  again  —  her  who  had  toiled  so  many 
years,  strengthened  by  holy  feelings. 

"  And  you,"  he  asked,  "  my  slight,  my  frail,  my 
shrinking,  delicate  Edith — why  was  it  that  this  suf- 
fering and  toil  did  not  kill  you?" 

She  wised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  his,  and  said,  softly, 
I  loved  you  Herbert,  and  I  prayed;  when  my  fingers 
13* 


302  FRESH     LEAVES 

ached  and  my  brain  was  dizzy,  I  prayed;  ever  and 
ever,  in  all  sorrow,  to  our  Heavenly  Father  I  looked 
for  strength.  And,  dearest  Herbert,  ought  we  .not  to 
be  grateful?" 

He  was  just  doing  as  he  always  did,  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  her  tearful  story  —  kissing  her  sweet  lips  — 
when  a  carriage  and  four  dashed  through  the  park  and 
stopped  at  the  door. 

He  and  Edith  went  out  to  welcome  the  visitors.  A 
rather  gay  and  foppish  man,  handsome,  and  withal  in- 
telligent, handed  out  a  beautiful  girl  hi  a  white  vail 
and  blushes. 

The  bridegroom  was  an  English  nobleman  —  the 
bride  was  dear  Annabel  —  more  beautiful,  more  hap^ 
py  than  ever — but  more  quiet,  and  somewhat  London- 
like  in  the  aristocratic  repose  in  which'  she  extended 
the  fingers  of  her  white  glove  to  Herbert.  To  Edith 
she  was  affectionate  and  gentle  —  to  her  parents  the 
same  dear  girl  as  ever. 


J-ROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  303 


INNOCENCE. 


*  The  shadows  lay  along  Broadway 

'Twas  near  the  twilight  tide  — 
And  slowly  there,  a  lady  fair, 

Was  walking  in  her  pride  ; 
Slow  walked  she,  but  viewleasly 

Walked  spirits  at  her  side, 

"  Peace  charmed  the  street  beneath  her  feet 

And  Honor  charmed  the  air ; 
And  all  astir  looked  kind  on  k^r, 
And  called  her  good  and  fairtjl*— "Witus. 

A  WARM-LOOKING,  delicate  h,-u,  and  a  splendid 
cloak,  softened  the  proud  face^wid  enveloped 
the  peerless  form  of  one  of  Broadway's  most  beautiful 
daughters.  Along  the  crowded  street  with  a  step  as 
gliding  and  as  haughty  as  the  measure  of  a  royal 
melody,  she  passed ;  and  it  was  like  the  sound  of  a 
pure  note  amid  a  hurrying  march  of  discord,  to  look 
upon  her,  walking  in  her  beauty. 


304  FRESH    LEAVES 

Like  a  drop  of  ottar  of  roses  on  the  bosom  of 
a  muddy  stream,  fragrant  and  uncontaminated,  she 
floated  calmly  down  the  waves  of  the  great  thor- 
oughfare. 

It  was  dusk,  as  she  ascended  the  broad  marble 
steps  of  her  palace-home.  Leaving  her  dirty  over- 
shoes, -and  rich  furs,  and  warm,  quilted  mufflings  in 
the  care  of  a  servant,  the  fair  lady  went  through  the 
lofty  parlors  into  the  cheerful,  and  cozy-looking  library. 
Here  the  darkness  without,  and  the  warm  glow  of  the 
anthracite  within,  were  struggling  for  the  mastery; 
a  mad  and  a  merry  chase  they  had  of  it,  despite  of 
the  entrance  of  the  lady  fair.  Never  minding  tl»e 
graceful  little  shiver  with  which  she-  sunk  into  the 
arm-chair,  close  up  by  the  shining  grate,  out  sprang 
the  crimson  fire-light,  and  pursued  the  night-shadow 
all  over  the  room,  treading  with  as  little  rever<  nee 
upon  the  quaint  bindings  of  old  philosophers,  as  Upon 
the  gilded  names  of  modern  rhymers,  standing  in 
rows  upon  the  well-lined  walls.  Now  the  shadow 
took  refuge  in  the  drapery  of  the  recesses,  and  the 
fire-light  was  there  in  an  instant;  and  anon  it  mocked 
its  pursuer,  resting  quietly  upon  the  rosy  lips  of  some 
beautiful  portrait,  with  its  dark  hands  over  the  smiling 
eyes  of  the  pictured  charmer ;  but,  with  the  quickness 
of  jealousy,  the  light  was  there,  caressing  the  soft 
cheek  that  gloweJ  tenderly  at  its  touch. 


FROM     WESTERN    WOODS.  305 

The  lady  sighed  softly,  andv  at  that  moment,  the 
fire-light,  darting  by  her,  revealed  the  soft  sigh  to  be 
a  happy  one;  for  a  beautiful,  complacent,  tender  smile 
was  melting  over  the  bright  maiden's  countenance. 

Lights  were  brought  in,  and  the  fanciful  struggle 
was  ended;  the  shadow  retreated  through  the  window, 
and  only  returned  to  peep  in  occasionally  to  enjoy 
the  nonenity  of  the  fire-light,  which  had  crept  back 
to  the  grate,  quite  abashed  by  the  gaze  of  the  brilliant 
lamp. 

The  lady  crossed  the  apartment,  and  sitting  down 
at  an  antique,  costly,  little  writing-table,  took  up  a  gold 
pen,  and  smoothing  a  sheet  of  scribbling  paper,  held 
the  pen  above  it  so  that  a  little  rainbow  from  the  dia- 
mond point  fell  upon  the  one  dear  name  written 
carelessly  on  the  page.  After  musing  a  m<nii< nt, 
with  a  half-blush  she  wrote  a  few  words  that  seemed 
like  a  note  of  invitation ;  and  after  reading  it  over  she 
said  softly  to  herself,  "  that  is  the  style,"  and  taking 
a  very  plain  and  elegant  sheet  of  white  note-paper 
from  a  large  quantity  that  lay  beside  her,  she  copied 
the  billet  she  had  written.  Again  and  again  her 
rapid  and  graceful  pen  repeated  the  same  words  upon 
sheet  after  sheet  of  the  delicate  white  paper,  only 
varying  the  names  of  those  addressed,  to  answer  to 
a  long  list  of  aristocratic  names  lying  at  her  little  left 
hand. 


306  FRESH     LEAVES 

"And  walking  there,  was  one  more  fair, 

A  slight  girl  lily  pale  : 
And  she  had  unseen  company 

To  make  the  spirit  quail ; 
'Twixt  want  and  scorn  she  walked  forlorn 

And  nothing  could  avail." — WILLIS. 

Perhaps  an  hour  after  the  proud  beauty  of  Broad- 
way glided  onward  to  her  home,  a  young  girl  followed 
on  het  steps;  the  poor  hood  was  thrown  down  over 
her  face,  and  her  thin  shawl  wrapped  closely  around 
her  slight  and  shivering  form.  She  seemed  to  shrink 
away  from  the  glare  of  the  street- lights,  and  the  bril- 
liancy of  the  shop-windows;  and  she  never  cast  a 
glance  at  the  beautiful  creatures"  who  swept  by  her 
in  velvety  comfort,  clinging  ta  the  arms  of  proudly 
tender  husbands,  and  brothers,  and  lovers,  and  fathers. 

With  a  hurried  and  irregular  step  she  wandered 
along,  till  pausing  a  moment  before  the  same  marble 
mansion  into  which  the  daughter  of  wealth  and  honor 
had  disappeared  an  hour  before,  she  pressed  her  hand 
tightly  over  her  heart,  and  stood  as  if  waiting  for 
strength  to  enter.  Then  ascending  to  the  door  she 
opened  it  without  ringing,  and  agiiin  paused  in  the 
hall.  There  was  no  rude  servant  to  forbid  the  paJe 
intruder  an  entrance,  for  John  was  taking  a  nice  bit 
of  turkey  and  gossip  with  the  housekeeper  in  the 
basement  Flinging  her  scanty  shawl  and  hood  upon 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  307 

fi\e  floor,  she  stood  revealed,  in  the  light  of  the  lamp, 
as  a  very  youthful,  and  exceedingly  beautiful  young 
girl, —  beautiful,  though  her  cheek  was  thin  and  col- 
orless, and  her  lip  compressed  and  pale.  The  black 
hair  was  pushed  back  from  her  wan  temples,  her 
large  eyes  were  burning  with  an  expression  —  not  of 
mildness  in  the  least  —  but  of  deathless  resolution; 
and  every  pallid  and  exquisite  feature  bore  the  same 
strange,  inexplicable  look — it  might  be  of  hardened  sin, 
or  calm  revenge,  or  of  desperate  and  injured  inno- 
cence. And  so  much  did  this  look  triumph  over  that 
of  suffering,  that  the  wretched  thinness  of  her  frame, 
and  the  meager  pallor  of  her  face  were  not  suggestive 
of  the  miserable  condition  of  starvation. 

As  if  perfectly  familiar  with  the  place,  she  softly 
opened  the  parlor  door,  and  glancing  within  and  find- 
ing it  deserted,  she  stole  noiselessly  through  that  room 
and  another,  until  she  came  to  the  library ;  here  she 
listened  a  moment  and  then  silently  opening  that  door, 
entered  and  closed  it  The  lady  still  sat  at  the  curious 
writing-table,  penning  those  little  notes,  with  her  back 
to  the  intruder.  Her  cheeks  were  glowing  richly, 
and  her  form  swelled  with  soft  fullness  the  embroid- 
ered silken  dress,  her  hair  was  folded  softly  over  her 
white  forehead,  and  her  young  lip  was  crimson  with 

life's  wine. 

The  steady,  burning  gaze  of  the  pale  creature  at 


308  FKESH    LEAVES 

the  door,  must  have  affected  her  like  magnetism,  for, 
though  there  was  no  noise,  she  turned  slowly  around, 
while  the  color  as  slowly  faded  from  her  cheeks. 

"  You  here  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  look  of  more  con- 
tempt than  one  would  have  "thought  would  have  sat 
upon  those  lovely  features ;  and  rising  to  her  feet,  she 
waved  her  hand  imperiously. 

The  motion  was  not  obeyed,  and  she  tiied  in  vain 
to  look  coldly  into  those  burning  and  resolute  eyes, 
shining  upon  her  with  a  dangerous  light,  from  the 
place  where  the  pale  intruder  stood.  With  all  the 
strength  of  her  will  she  could  not  prevent  her  gaze 
from  quailing,  and  her  face  from  blanching,  beneath 
those  eyes. 

"Yes!  Madeline  Seymour,"  was  at  length  the  slow 
response,  "  I  am  come  to  demand  of  you,  justice.  Are 
you  ready  and  willing  to  yield  it  ?  " 

"  Mary  Seymour  forfeited  all  right  to  ask  that  ques- 
tion, or  any  other,  of  any  virtuous  woman,  when  she 
flung  herself  outside  the  pale  of  their  pity  and  pro- 
tection," scornfully  replied  the  lady.  "  Have  I  not  for- 
bidden you  the  entrance  to  a  house  which  was  once, 
and  still  might  be,  had  it  not  been  for  your  strange 
criminality,  a  happy  and  pleasant  home  for  you  ?  " 

A  wild,  red  flush  burned  a  moment  on  the  thin 
v  heek  of  the  girl,  and  her  great  dark  eyes  flashed  forth 
an  indignant  lightning  that  made  the  beautiful  cousin 


FROM    WESTERN    WOODS.  309 

shrink  —  that  should  have  blackened  her  white  bosom, 
and  withered  it,  even  as  it  heaved  in  ang«-r  umlt-r  iu* 
weight  of  jewels  —  blackened  its  outside  semblance  of 
purity  till  it  was  as  dreadful  as  the  color  of  the  heart 
within.  But  both,  in  a  moment,  were  more  calm; 
and  as  the  red  went  back  from  the  cheek  of  the  intru- 
der to  her  heart,  giving  her  strength  to  speak,  she 
spoke  in  a  tone  so  solemn  and  startling  that  her  listener 
sank,  shuddering,  into  a  chair. 

"Enough,  enough  of  such  words,  Madeline!  You 
aare  not  trifle  with  me  now;  and  your  own  heart  the 
best  knows  how  false,  how  entirely,  utterly  false !  is  the 
accusation  you  have  heretofore  made  against  me,  and 
would  still  make  —  aye,  make  to  me  now,  while  your 
cheek  whitens,  and  your  lip  trembles  with  fear,  and 
your  heart  pants  with  its  sense  of  guilt,  Madrline !  " 
And  the  speaker  came  close  to  the  listener,  who  was 
making  a  powerful  effort  to  be  calm; — "Send  for 
Herbert  Clark, —  send  for  my  betrothed  husband,  and 
confess  before  him  that,  because  I  was  a  poor  orphan 
in  your  father's  house,  with  none  to  save  and  protect, 
that  you  have  irreparably  injured  me !  Confess,  that 
when  you  saw  him,  the  noble,  gifted,  and  flattered 
man  of  wealth,  prefer  my  humbl«  beauty,  and  hapless, 
but,  thank  God!  virtuous  heart,  to  your  own  brilliant 
charms,  and  fascinations,  and  compliments,  that  then 
your  poor  cousin  and  dependent  became  hateful  in 


310  FRESH     LEAVES 

your  eyes  —  because  unconsciously  your  rival  —  be- 
cause inexpressibly  nappy  in  the  belief  that,  for  the 
first  time,  she  wa§  loved,  and  tenderly  cared  for,  but 
unendurably  wretched  under  the  petty,  but  pitiless 
persecutions  of  your  jealousy !  Send  for  him  and  con- 
fess  that,  maddened  .by  your  own  unrequited  passion, 
you  laid  the  most  cunning  and  ^ruel  of  plots ;  the  most 
artful,  black,  and  unholy  device  to  injure  and  ruin  a 
poor,  friendless,  but  pure  and  innocent  girl  —  and  she 
your  cousin!  Confess  that  you  sueceeded  in  your 
plan  —  that  you  even  darkened-  his  .faith  in  my  puri- 
ty—  that  you  took  from  me  all!  jny  spotless  name, 
and  the  heart  that  -was  vowed  to  mine  —  that  you 
turned  me  thus  helpless  upon  the  streets,  pitilessly 
dooming  me  to  those  crimes  under  the  false  accusation 
of  which  1  suffered!  Tell  him,  that  I  have  borne  cold, 
and  sickness,  and  "hunger,  and  persecution,  and  yet  am. 
true  to  myself  and  him,  even  though  he  has  thus  for- 
saken me !  Tell  him  that  I  am  dyiny  now,  and  only- 
wish  my  memory  to  be  done  justice  4o,  now  that  no 
other  earthly  reparation  can  be  made !  Will  you  do 
this,  Madeline?  Shall  I  ring  the  bell  for  a  servant? 
He  must  be  gone  quickly,  for  in  a  little  time  even  this 
small  mercy  can  not  be  shown  to  me."  And  the  pale 
creature  reached  out  her  wasted  hand  to  grasp  the 
bell-rope,  while  her  solemn  eyes  looked  for  an  answer 
into  the  face  of  her  cousin. 


FROM  WESTERN  WOODS.        311 

Madeline  had  risen  trfher  feet,  all  feeling  of  remorse 
and  guilt  had  vanished,  in  the  fear  that  Herbert  would 
be  apprised  and  convinced  of  her  crime,  now  that  she 
had  played  a  game  so  fearful,  and  had  won  at  last; 
even  in  that  moment  she  was  in  great  danger  ot 
all  and  being  overwhelmed  in  disgrace;  for  she  kia-w 
that  he  was  coming  that  evening- to  see  her  —  she  met 
him  in  her  promenade,  and  told  him  to  come  in  unan- 
nounced to  the  library,  and  assist  her  in  writing  the 
wedding  cards!  She  feared  that  the  solemn  assertions 
of  the  sufferer,  so  sharpened  and  irresistible  with  the 
arrows  of  truth,  would  bring  conviction  to  the  soul  of 
the  man  who  had  worshiped  the  beautiful  and  impas- 
sioned young  creature,  the  wreck  and  shadow  of  which 
now  stood  before  her — a  wreck  and  shadow  yet  mighty 
in  the  power  and  grandeur  of  injured  innocence.  With 
a  defiant  brow,  and  a  voice  husky  with  anger  and 
terror,  she  asked  — 

"  Will  you  leave,  now,  this  instant,  Mary  Seymour, 
before  I  summon  help  ?  I  will  not  trouble  myself  to 
answer  your  silly,  weak  demand." 

"Had  you  rather  wither  under  my  dying  curse, 
than  do  what  I  have  required  of  you?  "  slowly 
her  interrogator,  whose  deep  and  searching  cye>  luui 
never  turned  away  for  an  instant 

The  haughty  syren  was  appalled  by  the  manner  of 
this  question,  but  she  laughed  convulsively  as  she  took 


312  FRESH     LEAVES 

up  one  of  the  notes  from  the  writing-tab.e,  and,  hold- 
ing it  toward  her  companion,  said  scornfully  — 

"  Read  that,  and  see  if  you  deem  me  so  silly  as 
yourself!  Will  I  tell  the  man,  who  in  three  days  is  to 
be  my  husband,  that  I  have  done  this  thing  that  in 
your  raving  you  accuse  me  of?  Now,  that  he  is  mine 
at  last,  shall  I  throw  him  from  me  ?  —  the  game  was 
too  difficult  to  play,  my  artless  cousin." 

Mary  glanced  at  the  card,  where  the  names  of  those 
she  had  most  loved,  and  who  had  most  injured  her, 
were  united,  and  once  again  a  sharp  thrill  of  anguish, 
as  of  old,  went  through  her  heart  But  for  such  feel- 
ing it  was  too  late  —  too  late. 

"  Will  you  send  for  Herbert,  Madeline  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  a  more  excited  manner  than  she  had  yet  been 
betrayed  into. 

"Fool!"  was  the  reply,  hissed  through  the  white 
teeth  of  the  beautiful  Madeline. 

"  Then  I  will  no  longer  ask  you  to  do  this  for  my 
sake,  but  for  your  own  —  for,  Madeline,  /  am  dying 
now!  I  shall  not  live  half-an-hour!  and  you  are  my 
murderess!  You  will  make  me  no  atonement  for  the 
injuries  you  have  done  me,  and  I  carry  this  accusation 
to  the  judgment  bar  of  -God  —  that  you  are  my  mur- 
deress! When  yuu  meet  me  there,  it  must  be  to 
answer  for  the  life  you  have  taken,  Madeline!  " — here 
her  voice  sank  to  a  strange  and  thrilling  whisper — 


FROM    WESTERS    WOODS.  313 

«  do  you  know  that  I  have  not  eaten  any  food  for  five 
days  and  nights  — that  I  am  dying  of  starvation?" 

The  beautiful  demon  was  not  yet  entirely  a  demon, 
though  her  passionate  and  unprincipled  heart  had 
prompted  her  to  all  this  selfishness,  and  as  that  hollow 
whisper  smote  upon  her  ear,  she  exclaimed  — 

"Good  God!  Mary,  is  this  so?    You  shall  have 
food,  now,  immediately;  —  but  oh!  tell  me  that 
forgive  me !     I  did  not  think  of  this !     I  never  thought 
of  your  starving!     Oh,  it  is  horrible! " 

"  It  is  too  late;  nothing  now  can  save  me,  for  the 
death-cold  is  upon  me.  Tell  me,  will  you  do  this 
thing  I  have  asked  ?  " 

" Never!  I  can  not!  I  would  rather  die!  But  food, 
food,  food, —  you  must  not  perish !  I  will  hasten  to 
bring  you  nourishment;  —  you  must  not  die,  for  I  can 
not  be  a  murderess !  " 

And  the  terror-stricken  creature  turned  to  summon 
assistance :  but  there  in  the  door,  which  he  had  silently 
opened,  stood  Herbert  Clark,  pale  and  stern,  his  dark 
eyes  lowering  upon  her. 

She  gave  one  shriek,  and  would  have  sunk  to  the 
floor,  but  the  power  of  his  glance  upheld  her;  and, 
when  he  simply  uttered  "  food ! "  with  a  mechanical 
step  she  obeyed  him,  and  passed  from  the  room. 

Then,  with  a  cry  of  manifold  anguish  and  joy,  the 
strong  man  —  who  had  just  escaped  from  the  spell  of 


314  FRESH     LEAVES 

the  syren  —  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  dying  victim, 
and  folded  her  to  his  bosom,  just  as  she  was  fainting 
to  the  earth.  One  last  look  of  unspoken  love  gleamed 
on  him  from  those  closing  eyes,  and  with  the  effort 
she  made  to  utter  his  name,  the  young  sufferer  per- 
i.-hed.  -Vain  was  the  pleading  agony  of  his  tenderne^j 
vain  the  wildness  of  his  kisses  and  the  groan  of  his 
despair;  the  mighty  effort  of  the  struggling  spirit  in 
that  wasted  and  miserable  tenement  to  establish  its 
innocence  in  his  eyes,  had  bent  till  it  suddenly  broke 
the  bow  of  life,  and  the  arrow  of  the  soul  passed 
quivering  into  the  "  shadow  land." 

That  was  a  terrible  night  that  Herbert  and  Madeline 
passed  by  the  side  of  the  beautiful  dead,  lying  in  her 
pale  and  delicate  beauty ;  and  the  fearful  silence  of 
those  snowy  lips,  was,  to  them,  more  hard  to  endure 
than  the  loudest  reproaches. 

The  shadow  a^ain  crept  in  to  look  on,  and  the  fire- 
light was  too  sad  to  chase  it  away.  Once,  only,  the 
light  Hashed  wildly — when  Madeline  laid  a. -heap  of 
daintily-written  notes  within  the  grate. 

Broadway  is  still  made  beautiful  by  the  gliding  steps 
of  one  of  her  most  aristocratic  fair  ones.  A  charm 
still  purilies  the  atmosphere  wherever  that  cold,  and 
pure,  and  virtue-patronizing  lady  passes;  and  those 
who  would  turn  with  a  shudder  from  the  poor 
wanderer  they  met  that  chilly  night,  still  gaze  with 


FROM     WESTERN     WOODS. 


315 


admiration  upon  the  stainless  brow  that  fruw: 
becoming  severity  upon  the  sha<l<>\v  >•!  a  r«  jn 

And  all  the  world  wonders  at,  and  applau'. 
angel  charity  and  goodness  that  prompted  the  sinless 

Madeline  to  fortjive  her  cousin  before  she  died,  and  to 

»    ' 

.  go  to  the  trouble  of  the  funeral. 


illinium  in 

A     000035679 


